


Not Gonna Hurt You

by embersdevine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alludes to Human Trafficking, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Mutual Pining, Raised Apart, Season/Series 02, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embersdevine/pseuds/embersdevine
Summary: At twelve, Sam had been captured by the Alpha Vampire; he’s the favored one, the adored one.  Sam couldn’t care any less because all he had wanted was to be with the brother they said they killed.  And now with the Yellow Eyed Demon after him and this obnoxious hunter crashing into his life, Sam’s not sure what do now.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 351
Collections: Sam Winchester Big Bang 2019-20





	Not Gonna Hurt You

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Sam Winchester Big Bang 19-2020. I owe several people thanks for this story. Nisaki, who encouraged me and helped me with the first draft; you're wonderful and talented. Laughable, who beta'd and helped finalize the fic; I'm so lucky you took this on and I appreciate it. Glowingsamulet, the amazing artist, thank you for your work and it's gorgeous; the I adore the detail. The mods, who are awesome to do this event. And then to my poor sister, who sits listening to my story ideas and points out all the plot holes I need to fill. This is the _the_ story I wanted for the SWBB. Thank you, guys.
> 
> Additional Warnings: The alluding to human trafficking tag is in regards to the Alpha taking children; there is no sexual abuse of any sort, however. Dubious consent due to the fact that they don't know they're brothers.

It honestly could have been much worse, Sam realizes with a strange, bittersweet twinge in his chest. Or that tug could have easily been the cold air, hitting his exposed skin, smeared with mud and blood. The knife hangs loosely in his left hand and he’s nearly ready to drop it, staggering on a bad right leg and gripping onto his left shoulder, as if he could stop the bleeding of his deep laceration. It’ll scar and he’ll have a hell of a story to tell, which is a nice change of pace. Another pro in the list against cons. 

_ Father _ would probably be disappointed with his injuries, Sam’s almost sure of it. Wasted blood and all. It soaks through the tan jacket he’d found two days ago when he first arrived in this stark, demon infested ghost town. It was relatively clean and no one else had claimed it, so Sam had snatched the jacket, thankful it was large enough for him. Now it’s ruined, cut up and stained with dark red and black soil from his tussle with Jake. Same with his hair, he’s guessing. The rest of the nest would raise a fuss about that. The precious, supposed promised child drenched with the earth, tainted.

Still. It could have been much worse. 

Sam halts with the second reaffirmation of that thought. Could’ve been worse, he thinks. Could’ve been taken a second time and forced to live out his life with---with, what? Demons? The yellow eyed one. Sam snaps his head to look behind him, squinting against the dark and the steady downpour of rain. If he’s being followed, he’d know by now, right? Probably not. Since he barely knew what hit him when they first took him, snatched from the gardens of Father’s favorite mansion retreat. 

Doesn’t matter if he keeps going, though. If they want Sam, they could easily take him now, wounded and tired. Whatever  demon comes for him must be hanging back until Sam collapses with exhaustion. Which, yeah, he can understand because he’s miles from civilization. But he’s trudging on as if he’s got a choice, which feels like a metaphor for his whole life. 

He can’t help the bitter and breathless laugh that escapes him at that. Second abduction and Sam’s only waiting on the third. Vampires and ten years later it’s demons, telling him he’s a special child, meant for a war, meant to  _ lead _ a war. Sam politely declined the offer because, honestly? Sam would rather sleep and not be talking to a crazy ass demon who likes to intrude on dreams. That, and the fact that it seems to be a running theme in his abductions: being a special child. Father said the same thing. A child to be used, groomed to be something else in a cause Sam doesn’t care for. 

The dirt road shifts beneath his boots, gravel and mud slipping together under his weight. It’s gotta lead somewhere. Preferably a paved road, which could have clueless drivers, willing to give him a ride to the nearest payphone. He’s sure the nest is scouring the ends of North America for him now. Father doesn’t appreciate his children vanishing, especially into thin air. Sam’s had time to think about it, stuck two days in the ghost town, meant to be a showdown of kids with odd abilities. Running from Father is typically met with a punishment. There’s no doubt in his mind that the nest suspects Sam had left on his own accord, given his attempts in the past. 

  
  


Or. He could just hide. Leave it all. If the demons don’t come for him, he could hide away. Sam smiles ruefully to himself at that. What a nice thought. 

He knows better. 

A crunch of gravel and dirt sounds distantly off to his right. Footsteps. They’re not his. He whips around, hackles up and anxiety sparking on the surface of his skin. No one. Nothing but a thinning treeline and darkness. Sam holds his breath. The grip around his shoulder tightens. Turning back to his original direction, he continues slowly. 

And then he breaks into a run. 

“H--hey! Stop!”

Sam chooses, quickly, he will  _ not _ stop. His bad leg shoots agonizing pain up to his hip and he has to let go of his shoulder to be able to sprint. And, of course, that doesn’t help his rating on the pain scale at all. He switches the knife to his right hand, just in case his chaser catches up. 

He nearly trips when a particular puddle is deeper than he accounted for, but he recovers fast enough to stumble back into running. His pursuer keeps yelling for him to stop, a deep voice, almost hoarse and certainly not familiar. Sam’s thoughts dart around at what the hell this guy is doing out here. Not a demon, Sam’s sure. He’s had two days of experience seeing demons just transport wherever they want. Vampires are fast too, unless it’s a newly transitioned one, which Sam doubts. 

No, this must be a human, otherwise he’d have caught up by now. 

“Enough! I just wanna---just stop running, kid!”

Oh, yeah. Fuck that. Sam’s not interested in Abduction Number Three, thanks a lot. The treeline begins to disappear and with that, Sam has some relief because the open fields ahead look suspiciously like farmlands. If he could just get to a road and lose this guy, he’d be golden. Well, that is, if he decides on the payphone plan. 

That hope dies when he stumbles, landing on his bad leg and the pain has him crying out, dropping to the mud on his side. His breath hitches, running out of time because the figure approaching him is closing in fast and Sam scrambles to his back. Raising up the knife, scooting away on his ass. Sam realizes, yeah, he’s not getting back up before this guy gets to him. 

“Stay the hell away from me!” Sam shouts, voice cracking at the end. 

His pursuer’s run bleeds into a tentative walk and he raises his hands. Sam takes the brief moments to look him over. Light hair and skin, a ridiculous leather jacket, muddy blue jeans. Sam inches back further in the mud, keeping the distance between them. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, ‘kay?” the man says, who is obviously a  _ liar _ . Because that’s what liars say. 

“Did he send you?” Sam demands, holding the knife up a little further. Whoever this guy is, he’s here to take him back. Who just hides out in the trees and waits until their target runs? Father must have sent scouts. Or maybe it’s just another creep. With some dread, Sam thinks of the demons. “Wait---are you one of them? The special children? Are you anoth--”

“--Listen, kid, I’d be glad to talk this out without you wavin’ that thing around,” the guy gestures to the knife in Sam’s hands. 

Sam’s still breathing heavily, blinks when a raindrop gets in his eye. He considers his options. If it’s another one of these demon-blooded participants, he’s not gonna make it. Jake was hard enough to take on, with his super strength-- and Ava’s stunt with the demon summoning was a bit out of his league. He’s not interested in another damn round. Yellow Eyes said this was the last one. The winner was whoever walked away alone. So this guy… Well, no one ever said demons tell the truth. Could’ve been giving Sam false hope, with the whole War Speech he gave him. 

Slowly, Sam begins standing up, watching the man carefully and lowering his knife. With that, the guy drops his hands to his sides. There’s a beat between them, electrified air that mingles with the downpour and anxiety. 

“What d'you want?” Sam pushes out, disappointed in how tired he sounds to his own ears. 

“Just trying to figure some things out here,” he says, the deep voice doesn’t go away. Ah, so he’s just naturally a baritone. “I’m not gonna hurt you, kid.”

Second time this guy has said it. Sam closes his eyes for a second.  _ Not gonna hurt you. _ Liars. All of them. When he looks again, he notices the man has taken another damn step his way. Panic surges in his gut and Sam spins around, scrambling up and darting off down the gravel road again. 

“Wait! C’mon, I’m not--”

For half a second, Sam wildly believes the guy might’ve given up. Might let Sam go. _ Not gonna hurt you. _ Maybe that had been the truth. Maybe this guy was just some random camper or something, who got spooked seeing a half torn up dude in the middle of the night. Maybe he decided Sam wasn’t worth the 911 call. 

Then Sam gets the wind knocked out of him as he’s tackled to the mud. He makes a sound, a groan that’s lost all its pressure because he can barely breathe, a new weight on top of him. The guy’s arms are around his middle, scrambling suddenly to get Sam pinned. He knows because this is a rather familiar position he’s been in. Before the hand can grasp his wrist, Sam thrusts the knife forwards, warningly. The knife’s sharp side is now pressed against the guy’s throat. Small miracles. 

“Okay,” the guy swallows, an action Sam catches because he’s still looking at the knife against pale flesh. When he speaks again, Sam flicks his gaze up. “I didn't mean to scare you, okay?” 

“ _ Not okay _ ,” Sam hisses, surging up so that his face is closer, pressing the knife a fraction deeper. A grimace from the man. “Tell me why you’re after me. Why out here? Who sent you?”

“Look,” he starts, sounding careful, shifting his weight on top of Sam, which gets him another hard press of the knife. “Okay,” he says again, a humorless smile and gaze upwards, as if he’s cursing a higher power. Eyes back on Sam, he sighs out, “Dean. My name’s Dean, ‘kay?”

A cold wash of some horror rushes down Sam’s spine. It’s not the rain or the mud. He narrows his eyes and forces himself not to shudder.

As if giving his name provided all the answers Sam needs. 

_ Dean’s a scrawny kid, yessir and heavy sighs. Dean’s full of _ hiya Sammy’s  _ and says he’s Batman. Dean’s mac ‘n’ cheese with a hundred different flavors and panicked _ no, you can’t go in there!  _ Dean’s a green soldier man and loose legos stuck in a vent, engine grease smeared over his cheek. Dean’s _ not _ the guy who has him pinned into the mud. _

“Don’t care,” Sam bites out. 

“I feel like this is a conversation you’d rather have with me  _ not _ on top of you,” Dean-- _ whatever _ , says with his eyebrows raised. Sam narrows his eyes. Clearly, tasteless jokes are still in style because it looks like Dean honestly thought he could get away with that one. “I know I’d rather talk without the threat of my throat being slit...so?”

“What are you doing out here?”

“For the love of--” Dean’s rolling his eyes and suddenly there’s a firm grip around his wrist, twisting up above his head and slammed into the ground, small rocks biting into his skin. Another painful slam and Sam instinctively drops the knife. “There we go.”

Sam cries out in frustration, letting his head fall back to the ground and shutting his eyes tightly. If he’s being realistic with himself, he’d known he couldn’t have gotten out of this situation to begin with. Bad shoulder, bad leg, bruises from Jake’s attempted beatdown. Oh, and food has been an issue these past couple of days, so his energy is running on pure adrenaline at this point. 

“So. Wanna tell me why you look like someone threw you in a bullpit?”

“Just trying to get away from stalkers who like to run after helpless people.”

There’s an arch of his eyebrow, as if Sam’s response had not even been in the field of answers he expected. Then a smirk. A dangerous thing, Sam thinks and that’s when his eyes catch the other features. Close enough not to miss the green eyes, dimmed by the night and water caught on eyelashes. Close enough not to miss the scattered freckles across his cheeks, bridge of his nose, his brow. Close enough. 

He seems to be doing the same to Sam. Observing, eyes darting over his face, like he's searching. The grip around his wrist tightens slightly. Sam hardly realizes it until their gazes snag on each other, mutually caught in scrutiny. It sparks something like humiliation in him, which he uses to light anger aflame. But the guy's lips part, tongue peeking behind the top row of teeth and he begins to speak.

“Not totally helpless,” he breathes out, as if there’s no more air between them. 

“Get off me,” Sam says automatically, his brain reeling first before his body. Because, well, he’s not moving, not struggling. Yet. He’s sore and tired and just...wants a bed to sleep in tonight. Or that’s what he’s telling himself. 

“Okay,” the guy--- _ Dean--- _ says. “But you gotta answer some questions.”

“Seriously?” His voice comes out in a deadpan. He’s beginning to feel the resignation settle. He gets pulled away from Vamp Central and dropped into Horror Town and now he’s got some freckled, pretty-eyed creeper over him, which he supposes is just how the universe wrote out his story. He’s never going to be free.  _ Not gonna hurt you. _ “You wanna play Twenty Questions? While I possibly die of blood loss or hyperthermia? I’m good. Get off.”

“Thanks, but no,” he says in a clipped chirp. Sam opens his mouth to chew him out for that one but Dean’s talking again. “I want to know more about where you were comin’ from. What d'ya know?”

“Besides yellow eyed demons and Lord of the Flies, not much,” Sam sighs out, hoping he sounds crazy enough for this dude to just  _ fuck off. _ Or call the police for him. “Look, I ha--”

“Yellow ey---yellow eyed demon? You saw Yellow Eyes? Where? Is he still there?” Dean’s gripping his wrist harder, face getting a tad closer and voice rising, frantic. Sam feels another bout of panic well inside his chest. “You know Yellow Eyes?”

“What?” Sam manages to get out before another round of demands. He shouldn’t have said anything.Why did he even open his damn mouth? “No...I--I just was...taken there. They wanted us to, I don’t know, fight to the death? I don’t know anything,” a lie, lies, they’re both liars here, “I just wanna get away from here, okay? Get off me!”

“Okay, okay.” Dean’s back to being calm, something he’s forcing, Sam notes. He rises, watching Sam. It’s predatory. Pinning Sam with his stare as much as the hand around Sam’s wrist. It’s meant to intimidate without further alarming Sam. He knows this because this was commonly used in his childhood. With Father and...his dad. “We can talk more later. Let’s get you bandaged up.”

“What? No… Dude, I need a fucking hospital. Just drop me off there.”

Sam’s lying. Again. He needs to figure out a game plan. Because if Father couldn’t find him out here in two days, maybe he’d be able to spend a few more days free. Away from vampires, from demons, from this leather jacketed jerk. With freckles. 

“Hey, okay, fine, hospital and then--” a grunt from Dean when he pulls Sam up and his equilibrium seems to suffer thereafter, “--we’ll talk about this. I just need some info, ‘kay?”

“No...you need to...fuck  _ off _ .” Sam says shallowly, quietly and why is the world tilted like that? He squints his eyes at Dean, vision blurring. “Wha…?”

“Oh, shit---easy, tiger,” Dean’s arms are around Sam again. He knows because he’s also slumping forward into that stupid leather jacket, the world growing darker than the night. Sam's leaning into him more so, unwillingly, like weights are pulling at him. He only barely registers the curses from the male supporting him. “Shit, shit.”

“Not...tiger.” Sam murmurs, breathes in and closes his eyes. Motor oil. That’s what he smells like. 

(Motor oil on hot days, sticking to his clothes and hair because the car needed some work. Dirty oil spilling out onto the gravel road because he forgot to put the basin under the engine.)

“Not tiger, okay,” he hears Dean muttering, “Gonna be fine.”

And so he sleeps.

\---

When he had been taken the first time, Samuel Colton Winchester was already unhappy with his life. 

If he hadn’t been given the clipped story, pieces drawn out through the years, Sam would have been raised to believe he was born into the life of hunting. His father hardly spoke about it and his brother, well, he was the one to offer morsels of information. With all his walls and strange burdens, his older brother gave and gave. Looking back now, Sam wonders how he had anything left of him besides his name. Maybe Sam took that too. All he could offer in return was a good luck necklace for Christmas and unrelenting adoration. 

“Well, the first thing you have to know is we have the coolest dad in the world," he had said, raising his eyes to Sam, earnestly, as if trying to get him to believe it, “He's a superhero.”

Dad fights monsters. Dad saves people. After that, it became like a mundane drawl. Sam remembers flipping through the worn journal in the dead of night, almost spitefully, as if he could  _ accidentally  _ tear one of the pages. Monsters killed Mom. And they were slowly killing Dad. His brother couldn't see it; not while worshipping the man and everything he stood for. Good against evil, the ongoing fight. Yet Sam didn't see either. At six years old, Sam got confirmation that Santa wasn't real and that his dad checked under his bed for the boogeyman. 

And his brother? Well, he told Sam, "Nothing's gonna hurt you." 

Then Colorado happened. Sam had been obsessed with maps, knew exactly where they were and reccounted it all to his brother. Sixteen years old and his brother still peered in the rearview mirror to smile fondly. How oddly joyful that made him; his brother’s approval felt like sunshowers, all consuming and bright. So when they pulled into the abandoned warehouse, Sam was still riding that high. Their dad told them to wait in the car, let him check it out. 

It was supposed to be a salt and burn. (Remembering that phrasing now is like a papercut, stinging oddly deep but unseen.) Turns out it had been a hunting ground for vampires. John Winchester, at the time, was a bit out of his league. Both he and his brother had no idea, of course. Sam didn't hear the shout clearly until it was said again and his brother opened the passenger's door. 

"Take Sam and go!" 

Even then, Sam was something to hide away. A child. A  _ special  _ child. 

Sam remembers seeing his dad's face briefly before he ducked back inside the building. Then his brother was sliding over to the driver's seat, rushing to obey the order and get them out. He was saying things in a panic then;  _ what about dad, we can't leave him, why are you leaving him?!  _ But his brother was a soldier at sixteen and didn't listen to twelve year olds crying about their dads. 

The door on Sam's side was ripped violently open before they could peel off, however. There was an iron grip on his arm, yanking him out. He was being dragged through gravel and all he could scream was his brother's name. 

What Sam remembers clearly is the unadulterated terror in his brother’s eyes when he was being taken away. He remembers seeing his mouth form his name, shouting at the top of his lungs but Sam couldn’t hear him, couldn’t even hear himself screaming. Fear clawed at him, caught in his bloodstream until it was all he could feel. They were taking him away from his brother, from light hearted punches, from listening ears and fond smiles, from corny jokes and eye rolls. From him. 

He had screamed, felt his throat wrecked with it. Screamed until a hand covered his mouth and he heard the distant echo of  _ Sammy  _ from the warehouse. After that, there had been a jagged sharp pain to the side of his head and he couldn’t remember anything else. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Reality rips through Sam like barbed lighting, with a choked gasp and a pressure on his chest. It takes him only a second to realize that pressure is a set of fingers that withdraw immediately as Sam bolts up, pushing back until he hits a barrier. A headboard, he registers, before he’s able to recognize whose hand had jostled him awake. His gaze snaps to the male hovering cautiously near him, slightly bent over the bed but still standing and obviously ready to back off for whatever reason. Like Sam retaliating. 

A frown flickers over his brow, a strangely heavy action after the spike of energy he held only moments ago. Why should he be fighting back? It’s what he feels like he should be doing. He’s been fighting everything else in his life. Sam’s brain feels like a whirlwind of thoughts, replaying events closest to the present as possible. The ghost town. Ava, Jake. The cold and rain and damn mud. The man...

Sam narrows his eyes at him accusingly. Right. Freckles. The asshole who ran after him like some psycho. Who does that? Just runs after people who are already half dead? His name. Dean. This  _ Dean _ does that, apparently. Dick. Sam scoots as far back on the bed as he can, sheets and pillows bunching behind him. 

“ _ You _ ,” Sam snarls. 

“Easy, easy,” Dean says, as if he honest-to-fucking-god isn’t responsible for bringing him to---to...Where is he? Sam lets his eyes dart around them. Another bed parallel to the one he’s on, a night stand between, two doors; a bathroom and the exit, he assumes. Dean’s talking again and Sam’s drawn to those stupid freckles. “You were kinda, uh...screaming.”

Sam chooses, rather spitefully, not to say anything. 

“Right,” Dean purses his lips and nods, backing away. Which is a good choice because Sam’s about to kick him in the gut. “I just thought you were having some fucked up nightmare.”

Sam rolls his eyes to the water stained ceiling. The dude couldn’t even get a nice hotel room. Of course he’d be stuck with a broke kidnapper. Some kidnapper. Sam sighs out, forcing his muscles to relax and feels something on his shoulder shift. He pauses, testing a tentative roll of his left arm. An extra layer under his shirt. Knitting his brow, Sam looks at Dean pointedly with some confusion. 

“You bandaged my shoulder?”

“Uh…” there’s clear question on Dean’s face, as if he’s wondering how to answer. Sam regrets the impulse. “You were bleeding out. So, yeah. Oh, wait,” he says hurriedly, turning to the table on the other side, snatching up something Sam can’t see until it's being thrust in his face. “Hydrate. You’ve been out for eight hours and I’m assumin’ you haven’t gotten much lately.”

Sam looks dully at the water bottle in his hand and back at him. 

Something a lot like annoyance wrinkles in the lines of Dean’s face but it vanishes with a sigh. He drops the bottle on Sam’s bed and throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Whatever. It’s sealed. Didn’t poison it. Already gave you the monster test, so I know you’re only human. Humans drink water.”

Monster test? Sam cocks his head to the side, curiosity creeping along the back of his neck. His mind flicks back to something about yellow eyes and Dean’s interest in the whole situation. He can’t hold back the scoff, a humorless smile lining his mouth. 

“Hunter,” Sam shakes his head, “You’re a hunter.”

And  _ of course _ he would be. Because heaven forbid Sam come across anyone normal in this lifetime. He couldn’t get tackled in the mud by some freaked out camper, not hitch a ride by someone with a bleeding heart. It would  _ have  _ to be a hunter because if it had been anything else, it wouldn't be Sam’s life. 

The knee jerk reaction is to get the hell out of here. He thinks of the nest, a warped thing to imagine now, as he attempts to grasp the fact that this is the longest he’s been away from them in over ten years. Some fear trickles into his chest but something worse expands inside him: excitement. Because if he can figure himself out of this tangled mess, he could be free. Out there in the human world, ignore the things that go bump in the night. No more glint of fangs, no ghosts that burn, no more mourning a family long gone. 

“You know about hunters?” Dean’s voice slices through his thoughts, a harsh wind of reality. “Damn. That makes this whole discussion easier.”

“Not really,” Sam tells him, eyes narrowing on instinct. “Why didn’t you drop me off at the hospital?”

“I can’t question you there. Besides, I’m pretty good at stitchin’ up.”

“I had to have  _ stitches _ ? What’d you use?  _ Dental floss _ ?” Sam hisses, unwanted memories flashing in his mind. At Dean’s averted gaze and some flounder of his hands, Sam rolls his eyes again and snorts. “Amazing.”

“Look, you only needed two.”

“Okay, y’know, thanks for your weird version of the good Samaritan but this is where we need to part ways,” he begins to move off the bed, ignoring the twinge of pain in his shoulder and leg. With a second thought, he picks up the water bottle and stands up. 

Dean moves directly in front of him. “Yeah...that’s not gonna happen right now.”

It’s meant to intimidate him. Sam has no issue with that. He’s been intimidated by monsters most of his conscious life. He’s not about to back down because some pretty eyed hunter says so. Taking another step closer, Sam closes some space between them, glaring at him with the reserve energy Sam has left. 

“Yeah,” Sam breathes out, a cruel kind of smirk on his lips, “it is.”

The look seems to throw Dean off kilter and Sam uses it as a window as he takes a couple strides past him to the door. It’s short lived, as Dean wraps a hand around his wrist and yanks him back. That dull pain in his shoulder burns brighter and he’s suddenly crying out, instinctively moving closer to stop the pull. 

“Shit, sorry,” Dean says, like he’s not the asshole who just hurt him, intentionally or not. Sam throws him another dark glare and Dean grimaces but doesn’t let go. “I just wanna know what went down.”

“You’re way over your head here,” Sam warns him because it’s true. This is bigger than one measly hunter can even fathom. “Whatever you’re hunting, it’s gonna rip you to shreds.”

At that, Dean’s smirking and he sort of hates how that eases his shoulders. “All part of the job, kid.”

“Not a kid,” Sam says automatically, sighing out and shakes his head. “I just wanna get away, okay? I need to…”

To what? Hop on a bus? With no money, the clothes on his back and no other outside resources, he’s bound to get lost out there. The thought seems rather terrifying now. With some bitterness, Sam thinks that maybe that’s what they meant to instill in him. Fear of the outside world. Distrust everyone else. Like oblivious hunters who bandage up guys because it’s  _ all part of the job _ . 

“Just answer a few questions, okay? Promise I’ll drop you off at home.”

“Don’t have one,” Sam murmurs and his arm goes completely slack. He only mildly registers Dean letting his wrist go after he does. 

“You...don’t?”

“What do you wanna know, dude? Let’s just…” he shuffles to the table and sits down, looking up at Dean expectantly. “get it over with.”

There’s a rather deep frown in Dean’s features. Sam doesn’t have the energy to dissect it and he’s not sure he’d care to find out what’s there anyway. Probably a piece of being a hunter, narrowed focus and set on ridding the world of evil. Driven by some force like revenge, redemption, a savior complex or all of the above. As he stares up at the hunter in front of him, Sam wonders which category he falls under. All hard lines and profound expressions. He hopes he doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. 

Dean clears his throat and Sam gets the impression he doesn’t do this often. More than likely, he’s used to interrogations that involve knives or holy water. This type of questioning has him in an uncomfortable position and Sam wracks his brain for a way to exploit it. He could appear more docile, get him to lower his guard, or find an opportunity to just bolt. 

“I’ve been huntin’ Yellow Eyes for awhile,” Dean starts and gestures towards him, “It sounds like you two had a run in.”

“If you wanna call it that.”

“What would  _ you  _ call it?” Dean asks and Sam knows exactly what he’s trying to do.

Sam shifts in the chair until he’s slouching back, hands resting over his stomach. Might as well. Who cares if this hunter comes across the demon? (Maybe he’s just scared it’ll mean the demon’s not done with him yet.) If he can get a headstart, Sam could just point this guy in the right direction. 

“He took us to that...town,” Sam begins, looking up to the ceiling, pulling forth the memories he’s already attempted to suppress. Like everything else. “We didn’t know what he wanted at first. It was just us. Five, including me.”

“You know their names?”

Sam closes his eyes, remembers  _ Talley _ sewn onto the army uniform. Remembers the faint smile returned when Sam offered reassurance.  _ We’ll all get outta here, okay? _ Sam’s a liar. A damned liar and he’s now realizing it. What an awful thing to say to someone, hours before they die, bleeding out in the mud. 

“Jake Talley. Ava...something,” Sam murmurs, keeping his eyes closed.  _ I’m Ava Wilson. Well, soon to be Ava Carlson. Engaged. _ “Wilson.”

“Okay. Anyone else?” 

At the prompting, Sam frowns but doesn’t open his eyes. Sighing out, “Ray...Emerson, I think.” Ray could light things on fire with his mind. And he had been the second to die. The first and the most tragic, “Monique. I...she never gave her last name.” Monique caught drifting thoughts; an actual psychic and could twist them, manipulate them. It scared her, Sam remembers, especially when she accidentally made Ray go to sleep. He dropped right there, in the middle of the room. 

“And yours?”

Sam’s eyes snap open and he gives him an inquiring look. His...what? Sam hasn’t told him about the powers. A shock of realization hits him then: he’s a hunter and Sam’s not...he’s not human. To a hunter, Sam’s something to be put down. His eyes dart toward the door in mild panic. Maybe Dean’s been putting on a front this whole time; he could know what Sam is already and thought this nervous questioning technique would get him to open up. 

_ If he only knew. _ Sam’s a lot worse than what Dean could possibly imagine. The last decade is a testament to that. He’s seen guys like Dean in pieces on the floor, throats torn apart and eyes staring blankly up at him. Sam’s watched hunters turned into the monsters they hate, sobbing and shaking. Watched as they were denied the only sustenance they needed and finally put out of their misery. 

“Hey, whoa, chill out,” Dean’s hand lands on Sam’s good shoulder, pushing him back on the chair, which only causes Sam to jerk away, bumping into the table. “I just wanna know your name, kid.”

_ Oh _ .

Oh, okay. 

Sam forces himself to ease the sharpened nerves whirling inside him. He doesn’t know. He has no clue what Sam is or what he’s done. (Had to do, right?) It’s seconds past until he’s able to talk without a shake to his voice. 

“Colton,” Sam says, looking pointedly at him. The light of Dean’s eyes dims. Sam brushes it off.

“No last name?” Dean prompts but when Sam shakes his head, he shrugs with a sigh. “Colton. Nice. So, what happened? You said something about...Lord of the Flies? They make you guys, what? Kill each other?”

There’s some hesitance to his tone. A wariness. Because he could very well be sitting in front of the champion of the bloody survival of the fittest. Which, by default, Sam is exactly that. He can’t blame him for the caution. He’s been doing his best to ignore the truth of what happened in the past two days. Camped out with four scared twenty-three year olds, trying their best to get the hell out. 

“Yeah,” is all Sam has to say. 

“For...entertainment? Listen, man, you gotta give me more than that.”

“Why?” Sam snaps back, out of impulse and he regrets it instantly. But he keeps going, as if this part is hardwired into him. Maybe it is. “So you can run after the Big Bad? This guy is not just any monster. It’s been around for awhile. It’s killed families just because they were an inconvenience. Don’t be an idiot.”

A righteous kind of anger flashes over Dean’s features and he thinks that maybe he should have gone with the docile captive route. Bad move, Sam. He stands suddenly, knocking the chair over and Sam can’t help the flinch, recoiling as Dean towers above him. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna kill it,” his voice is low and Sam sort of wishes he would yell instead. It’s a dangerous tone, the kind that promises retaliation. “Those families? One of them was mine. So if there’s any way I can get close to it, I’m gonna take that chance.”

Something else flickers over Dean’s face then. Like he’s remembering something. Sam frowns, expectant. 

“You know about monsters,” he recalls. Sam’s eyes widen, recalling his slip. “How?”

“Nunya,” Sam bites out, standing up and is rather thankful for his height, glaring darkly down at Dean. “I told you what you needed to know. Now I’m gonna leave.”

Before get can even take another step, Dean’s gripping his bad shoulder. A cry of pain rips out of Sam and he falls to his knees. He thinks he hears a muttered  _ Sorry _ before he’s forced into darkness. 

  
  


\---

  
  


When Sam had been taken, he fully expected to die. 

With the upbringing he had, how could he not? But when he awoke, unharmed, no gashes or teeth marks, Sam couldn’t help but be confused. He was bound and thrown into the backseat of a car, cheek sticking to the worn leather beneath him. There were two males in the front, speaking amongst themselves. 

“---wanted the kid alone. That was the deal.”

“Old man just wanted to kill us. Hunters and all.”

“Barry and Christa didn’t make the last checkpoint. Think the hunter got to ‘em?”

“Probably.”

It wasn’t long until Sam succumbed to sleep again, body tense but exhausted all at once. Later in his life, Sam would recognize it as a type of stress he’d grow accustomed to. Nothing too awful, honestly. After awhile, it didn’t matter, as long as he got to dream. 

When he was dragged into a rather beaten down mansion, Sam realized he was meant to be kept alive. Some flicker of hope bounced in his chest. He remembers assuming they wanted to trade him for something; his dad would be there for him, one way or another. And that was all he needed. Dad would come; he always came and saved the day.  _ He’s a superhero _ , his brother said and Sam had hoped with all his heart that was true.

In a library room, Sam was forced to kneel on the rug, hands still tied behind him and the two kidnappers on either side of him. Sam waited, fantasizing his dad crashing through with a machete and shotgun. He waited, checking out the exits quietly. Anytime now, right?

The door opened and in came a dark skinned male in a suit. Sam remembers thinking how a man could smile so warmly but have the most terrifying spark in his eyes. He came to stand in front of Sam, that fond smile wide on his mouth, like he’d found a precious treasure. A hand went to his face and he realized, with some horror, his fingernails were long and discolored with the years. 

“What a beautiful boy,” he said, tilting his head to the side, examining Sam’s face. A fingernail went to lightly brush some strands of hair out of his face. “A pretty addition to our family.”

Sam jerked away, and with some indignant rebellion, he went to bite the man’s hand, hissing when he missed. 

There was a chuckle, a smooth but dark sound. “A hunter’s son. But no more. I am your father now, my son.” He stood then, directing a glance to one of the other vampires beside Sam. “Take him to his room. He must be tired. I am certain this has all been too much for the poor child. No harm will come to him.”

Sam remembers little after that. With eleven years of memories, Sam can’t recall how he ended up in what would become one of his rooms. He doesn’t remember how they got him to eat, got him chained to a bedpost, change into different clothes. 

What Sam remembers is wondering why his father hadn’t come for him. He remembers asking whether his brother was all right. Remembers feeling cold and wishing for sunshower smiles. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“You’re such a dick,” is the first thing Sam says when he wakes up, glaring darkly at the man on the other bed. 

Dean’s reading a newspaper, flicking through the pages, he startles at Sam’s voice. Sam gets some mild satisfaction at that and revels in it. Thinks maybe he could find different ways to enact revenge in small ways like that again. 

“Yeah, well, I still need you to straighten a few things out for me, Colton, and you’re not being very cooperative.”

“I can’t wait to call the cops on you.”

“They think I’m dead, so that might not go well.”

Sam rolls his eyes to the ceiling, attempting to pull at his right wrist. It’s been cuffed to the bed, which doesn’t surprise him. He hasn’t been restrained like this in a long time. Eighteen, maybe? An attempted escape. He knows better than to try and twist out of them; no use skinning his hand and breaking a thumb to get out. Especially when he couldn’t even escape when he  _ hadn't  _ been restrained. It’s a bit of a blow to his ego.

It’s quiet for a few minutes after that. Sam guesses Dean’s looking through new articles for any clue of omens or the like. It’s not going to be that easy. Sam’s not sure himself but if Yellow Eyes is as powerful as he thinks, it’s gonna be a lot harder than looking for cows dropping dead and weird electrical storms. 

His knowledge of demons comes mostly from books and lore. After some time, the Alpha gave him books he requested and then more. Other vampires taunted him when they brought crates of literature.  _ His favorite.  _ Sam didn’t argue at the time; he had no doubt the Alpha favored him but he always assumed it was because of the challenge. Regardless, it gave Sam the privilege of reading through all types of books, adding to a growing library in his rooms. Monster lore got a whole bookshelf of its own. 

Sometimes, Father offered his own insight to the lore. Sam naturally assumed he indulged him because he was talking to him, asking questions and curious of what the Alpha knew. And Father  _ always  _ answered his questions. 

Sam flicks his gaze back to Dean with some caution. One of the most important things to know about a vampire: they will know your scent forever. Sam, well, he’s always been marked since the night he had been taken. One of the reasons he had never been able to get far in his escape attempts. He could only imagine why they hadn’t found him yet. Part of him had silently wished they would when he’d been dropped in that damn ghost town. 

Now that he’s stuck with a clueless hunter, it probably won’t be long until they find him. 

“Hey,” Sam clears his throat, “What state are we in?”

“South Dakota, not far from Cold Oak,” Dean murmurs, fingers skimming the newspaper in his lap. 

Cold Oak. The demon town. “And your instinct was to stay in the same state?”

Oh, hell no. He needs to get out of here. Needs to get to the southwest. Or maybe head towards Canada? Father can’t follow him forever. Sam’s still mildly human, right? He could wait out the rest of his days in Quebec or something. Maybe on a boat. God, he just needs out of this damn country. 

“Uh, yeah?” Obviously, Dean finds the insult to his intelligence aggravating. “Yellow Eyes is probably still here. For you.”

  
  


_ There’s gonna be a lotta things here for me. _ Sam sits up then, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “We need to leave.”

“No. I just need to find Yellow Eyes so I can kill him.”

A cold realization dawns upon Sam then. A small, condescending voice in his head says he should have known it sooner. “I’m bait.”

“Yeah, buddy, so if you could just sit tight, this show will be on the road in no time.”

“You’re a psychopath,” Sam hisses, leaning further over the edge. Dean still won’t look at him and that only ignites further rage, drawn from a deep rooted fear. “And an idiot. A psychopathic idiot who’s gonna get us  _ both  _ killed.”

“Not if I can use this,” Dean’s still not taking his eyes off the paper when he waves a gun. 

“You know that doesn’t work on demons, right? What kinda hunter---” Sam stops then, catching something on the hilt of the gun. A devil’s trap etched into the wood. He holds his breath, flicking through his memories of books of lore. 

Samuel Colt is better known for what he had made, rather than who he really was. Sam runs through his memories of the books on the legendary hunter. Sam can’t recall much about his life besides the strange railway he made over a century ago and the one weapon feared amongst the monsters of the world: the Colt. A weapon made during Halley's Comet, a gun that could kill anything. 

Sam still remembers the spark of joy, fifteen years old and tired, wishing nothing more than to have it himself. It could kill the Alpha, the unkillable. 

“The Colt.”

Dean looks up at that, some shock in his features. “You know what this is?” Then he’s grinning, a childish thing. “You’re just full of surprises, aren't ya?”

“How’d you get that?” Sam’s feeling a little breathless, an old hope welling in his chest. “No one’s seen it for years. It was a myth.”

“It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that,” Dean’s still grinning and staring at him like he’s found a new best friend. Which Sam’s considering playing along with because he could really use that gun. The idea has him spinning a whole new approach he could take. “So, what? You just know a bunch of monster shit? I mean, you sure know a lot about the creepy crawlies of the world for a random citizen.”

“I told you, it’s none of---”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean sits back then, body a bag of bones as he sighs out. Sam watches as he stares across the room, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. It’s best the hunter not know much now. If he did… Well, Sam’s got a fifty-fifty shot of not dying when this is all over. “My, uh... my dad was a hunter. Taught me everything I needed to know about it.”

Sam narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side, studying him. Dean doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes on the wall. It takes a moment, but Sam notes that maybe he’s trying to share his life and get Sam’s story in return. Classic human communication and Sam wonders if Dean knows he’s doing it. 

“Mom died when I was a kid. Yellow Eyes. It’d been a fire. Dad didn’t tell me much. Just that he found out it’d been the demon. Then Yellow Eyes got to him a year ago. Demon deal,” he clears his throat. “Found out a few months ago he’d made another deal to put my brother away. Pretty sure Yellow Eyes got to him some time ago. So. Just me. And the Colt.”

Sam wrinkles his nose when Dean finally looks at him, expectant. His turn. Rolling his eyes, he slumps in the bed, the cuff biting in his wrist at the motion. 

“Look, I’m all for campfire stories but I’m not about to spill my guts to the guy using me to draw out a demon.”

“Just tell me where you’re from.”

God, he’s persistent. “Nowhere.”

“Nice place. Hear the winters aren’t bad.”

“Traveled a lot. Still kinda do,” Sam eleborates. 

“You got people?”

“Used to. Long time ago.”

“That how you know about monsters?”

“And then some.”

“Colton.”

It takes a moment but Sam looks over to his faux name being spoken. He blinks up to see Dean looking at him with something like suspicion and he’s not exactly surprised. Vague answers only offer that type of feeling in return. Mentally, Sam makes a note to play his role. He needs the Colt.

“I’m not gonna let you get hurt, ‘kay? After this is all over, I’ll drop you off anywhere you want.”

_ Not gonna hurt you. _

“Whatever.”

  
  


\---

  
  


At sixteen years old, Sam had already made twenty-seven attempted escapes. 

He’d count them, keep track of what didn’t work and how they always got him. He got far enough into town one time; hotwired a car and everything. They caught him trying to siphon gas from an abandoned Ford. One night away from the nest and, for the first time in years, Sam felt joy. It had been sullied when they captured him again, though. But it had been there---that burst of bright hope.

Every time, they’d drag him back to the feet of the Alpha. With some disappointment, he’d bend forward, brush the bangs out of Sam’s face with long nails and surprising gentleness and say, “You belong here, my son.”

He supposed the rest of the vampires expected a harsher punishment than being confined to his room full of books and small artifacts. With the other human children, they simply wouldn’t be seen again for such a crime. But Sam got to be  _ grounded _ . He was the special one. The beloved son. Sam recognized the idea of being a trophy; the Alpha had been the monster who took a child of John Winchester. 

The last attempt came with a warning, however. For a being like the Alpha, one would assume first offenses meant certain death but for Sam Winchester, he seemed to have infinite patience. 

Until even that ran out. 

“No more, Samuel,” Father told him in that soft, deep cadance he held. Sam would sometimes pretend the Alpha used to be king in some era, using that same voice when ordering an execution. “There will be a consequence.”

Sam remembers thinking he’d rather die than be under the same roof as him. What could be worse than being a prisoner? He thought could live with whatever  _ Father _ decided was a fitting ‘consequence’. He’d be wrong. 

The last escape hadn’t gotten him far as he would have liked. He got across the five acre land before the guards were dragging him back. After that, there was static silence from the Alpha and anyone else. No one spoke to him, no one came to see him unless it was to give him food. 

And then Jebediah came to get him. One of Father’s most trusted. He used to be a general in an American war and a politician in a European one. Generally, Jebediah regarded Sam in a polite manner. But this time, Jebediah said nothing. Simply took Sam by the arm and delivered him to the study. 

The Alpha sat at the desk, quietly watching as Sam walked in and then in front to face him. 

“Why am I here?” Sam asked, indignantly. 

There wasn’t any clue of emotion on the Alpha’s face. Only a gesture directed at Jebediah as he said, “I told you the last time you would try to escape there would be consequences, didn't I, Samuel?”

Sam said nothing in return, gritting his teeth. Any outburst would mean he’d be locked in his room again. He knew better. 

The Alpha hummed at his silence and waited as Jebediah placed a wooden box atop the desk. It reminded Sam of a jewelry box; gothic designs engraved into dark, petrified wood. It was small. Sam frowned. 

“Open it.”

The order compelled him to do so; he had been used to obeying Father’s immediate commands a long time ago. Sam was sure whatever was in there wasn’t going to deter him from escaping. There’s nothing that would stop him from---

Wrapped in a bloodied white handkerchief laid a silver ring. Sam blinked, his vision blurring for a few moments before he could fully register what was truly before him. He picked it up with a slight shake in his hand. 

“I took one Winchester,” the Alpha said, “I could have always taken the other.”

Sam roared, snatching up the box and throwing it past the Alpha. It clattered against the large window. The sound didn’t even make the monster flinch. “You didn’t! You’re lying!”

“Jebediah knows where the body is,” he answered, unfazed. “He could always take you to the field his grave resides.”

Another scream ripped from Sam’s lungs and he collapsed to the floor, the ring still tightly grasped in his hand. They couldn’t have. They  _ wouldn’t _ . His brother would have gotten away. They’re bluffing. 

(But, in his heart, he knew. He had seen it dozens of times. Sam had witnessed plenty of hunters shredded apart on the dining room table, while he sat, food growing cold on his plate. If the Alpha wanted his brother dead, he was gone. No one stood a damn chance against him. And he knew it. He simply didn’t want to believe it.)

Hyperventilating, Sam stared at the ring. It had been their mother’s. Their father gave it to his brother after a particularly bad and long hunt. His brother always said it was  _ theirs _ .  _ When you’re older, it’ll fit you _ . And now it sat in the palm of his hand, covered in dried blood where the inscription would read  _ Always yours _ on the inside. 

“You are meant for greater things, Samuel,” said the Alpha, reaching out and caressing his face. Sam shuddered. “I don’t want to take anything else from you. Do not make me, son.”

The Alpha wouldn’t have to. 

Sam’s whole universe had been annihilated that night. 

\---

  
  


It takes Sam some time to calculate but he eventually figures he’s been gone from the nest for a good three days. Give or take a few hours. 

There’s not much to do when cuffed to a bed and Sam considers goading his capture into some immature arguing about perversion but decides against it. He’s not above it, however, he’s too annoyed to be bothered. Besides, it would probably end up with Dean flipping it back on him with another tactic to extract information. 

After approximately an hour, a green packaged bar is shoved in his face and Sam recognizes it as the dry granola bars. Nature Valley. He takes it, eyeing Dean and considers punching him instead since he’s made the mistake of getting so close but steers away from that avenue of choices too. It’s a dry, hard thing to eat and it dredges up memories of green aluminum wrappers stuffed into plastic bags under the seat of a car. 

“How’d you find me at Cold Oak?”

He’s not entirely certain what sparks the interest but once the question leaves his mouth, Sam rolls with it. 

A shrug. “Asshole demons, a motivated hunter and a psychic. Pointed me in the direction where Yellow Eyes had been hangin’ out for a bit.”

Sam watches as Dean shuffles to the table, plops down and resumes cleaning his weapons. He starts with the sharp ones first. “What’d they tell you?”

“Not much besides it was crawlin’ with demons. When I got there though, it was like the whole place was dead. Well, except for you.”

“It…it all got quiet when I...walked away.”

Dean pauses and throws him a blank stare but even Sam understands the curiosity blended with caution in the twitch of his mouth, that slight arch of a brow, his stillness. Sam understands it because that’s a look he’s been trained with his whole life. 

He decides then. It’s a half baked sort of plan and he’s not sure how he’ll even begin to execute it but he just knows he might get out of this if he makes the choice now. 

“Look, man, you don’t have to tell me everything about your life. I just wanna know what the hell happened back---”

“Okay,” Sam cuts him off. 

Dean blinks slowly. He mouths the word Sam had spoken and then finally says it aloud, “Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

He’s giving Sam a hard look, the sort that has open distrust. He doesn’t blame him---it came out of nowhere. Willingness can be bought, traded, given unconditionally but Sam hasn’t offered any indication he’d do so. And, to be fair, cuffing someone to a headboard doesn’t exactly let anyone relent easily. 

So that’s who they are: two men who don’t trust each other. In this moment, it’s just enough for Sam to wiggle under the facade of Dean the Hunter. 

“I’ll tell you anything you need to know about Yellow Eyes but you’ve got to promise one thing,” Sam sits up then, intent to look like a man negotiating. 

There’s a small bit of exasperated annoyance that flits through Dean’s features. The asshole even rolls his eyes with a snort but he doesn’t say no. Instead, “Let’s hear it.”

“I need to use the Colt,” Sam starts and continues hurriedly when Dean makes an obvious attempt to protest, “I don’t care if you go with me, if you’re the one pulling the trigger. I get it. You don’t want to lose it, but I have a target I need taken out. That’s my deal.”

Dean looks like he’s considering it and Sam feels more hopeful than he has in a long time. Takes a rough hand, scratches at the light stubble at his chin and Sam watches the motion. “Sounds like you got a monster problem. I got a lot happening, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Take it or leave it.”

A few beats later, Sam’s thinking his gambit has truly been a fifty-fifty shot because Dean’s narrowing his eyes at him. The focus doesn’t deter Sam, though, keeping his gaze on the man across the room. If this doesn’t work, then he has to come to terms with how the rest plays out. 

Situation one: the demon comes for Sam and Dean will inevitably lose the battle because it’s a fucking demon. His faith in hunters has decreased steadily throughout the years and, in Sam’s experience, most don’t see past the age of forty. So this guy going up against one of the most powerful monsters he’s seen? It’s just a neck waiting to be snapped, honestly. 

Situation two: members of the nest show up to drag Sam back to the Alpha. If he’s learned anything, it’s that Father doesn’t allow his things go so easily. Waiting around at a rundown motel and being cuffed to the bed only is giving them the bonus of not having to run after him. Sam doesn’t see Dean surviving that either. 

So if this works? Well. Sam might be figuring that out on the fly but it mostly involves pulling the trigger of the Colt himself. Not that he’s about to reveal that tidbit to Dean. 

“All right.”

“All right?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, blinking and suddenly he’s working on the weapons on the table once again. Then a grumble, “If you try anything, Imma kick your ass.”

“So no handcuffs?” Sam tries hopefully. 

“Cuffs stay on.”

“What? You said--”

“Nothing about the cuffs.”

“ _ Asshole. _ ”

Dean throws a smirk over his shoulder towards Sam and it’s all he can do not to struggle against the metal link with a petulant tantrum. Because that’s what this guy is doing to Sam---reverting him back to childish impulses. He’d rather not, obviously, because if there’s something Sam’s prided himself in it’s his stone hard self control. Apparently he has yet to master idiot hunters with pretty green eyes. 

Instead, Sam puts on the tightest, sarcastic smile he can conjure, teeth grinding and a hum of acknowledgement. “Right.”

Sooner or later, the cuffs will be off. He’ll have to pee or Sam will demand a shower and probably annoy him to death about it. 

“So tell me what happened in---”

There’s something satisfying in being right, even if Sam hadn’t told Dean what he’d projected. He wouldn’t be able to say  _ I told you so _ about the situation specifically but he would still get to tell Dean  _ Hey, remember when I said you were a psychopathic idiot? _

If they live, that is. 

Because Dean doesn’t finish the question due to the door of the motel room bursting open, splinters of wood flying through the room. Sam shields his face into his shoulder at the debris, flinching on instinct and snaps his attention to see what exactly did the damage. 

The fangs are the first thing he sees. Awful and glaring and all of it for him. He knows because there’s no other reason for the theatrics. They’re here on orders from the Alpha himself and there’s no disobeying Father. 

“Shit!” Dean curses as one heads straight for him. 

Sam doesn’t recognize all of them. There are three; two males and one female. He knows one: Jebediah. A high ranking vampire, nearing the century old mark. He has about two nests in the southwest of the States, if Sam remembers correctly. 

And right now, Jebediah is reaching for Dean’s throat. A wave of panic rises within him and he shouts, “Dean!”

Jebediah halts then and, with that, the others do as well. Reddened eyes look over Sam with some question, flicking over his form, the handcuffs and then to his face. The vampire frowns, tilting his head. 

“Dean?” 

Jebediah doesn’t get another word out after that and never will. Because the next second, his head is sliced clean off and thumping to the floor. Cold vampire blood hits Sam’s face, dotted and a shock. He stills, watching the rest of Jebediah’s body crumple. 

Dean stands with the machete in hand, raising it as if he’s the batter to the plate. The other two vampires seem to be in the same amount of horror and probably moreso. These vampires were probably culled by Jebediah, brought into his nest and taken under his wing. To see the leader headless and gone is like tearing a piece away from them. 

The other male roars and the female looks directly at Sam. He holds his breath. “Father will not be happy with this.”

Sam swallows, tugs at the handcuffs around his wrist. “Dean, get me outta these---”

The other male vampire charges at Dean and Sam grits his teeth, fully expecting a bloodbath. Dean will be ripped to shreds without mercy now. He killed their leader and it’s over. 

He’s known Jebediah almost as long as he’s known the Alpha. Jebediah had been the calm one, analytical and meant for leadership. If Father sent Jebediah, it means Sam’s disappearance has bothered the Alpha more than Sam had thought. And now Jebediah’s  _ dead _ . Not that he can feel anything towards the loss. Jebediah is the one who killed his brother and brought back a bloody silver ring to prove it. 

Sam’s eyes fall upon the other weapons in the room, momentarily catching the Colt but his gaze snag on the other machete lying on the bed. It’s jagged and smaller but it’ll do. It’s close enough on the edge of the bed that Sam can reach and suddenly he’s rather grateful for longer limbs. His right shoulder aches at the stretch but he’s able to snatch the machete up within a second. 

Somehow, Dean and the other vampire are in a small tussle and Sam has to give Dean credit. He got Jebediah by surprise but the others are still formidable enough; they’re Jebidiah’s vamps, which means they’re trained for things like this. Now his attention is on the female, who has switched to the actual mission: take Sam and go. 

Her eyes are reddened but she’s yet to show her fangs. Dark hair and pale skin and covered in the signature black and sleek clothes. As if she’s stuck in a 1980 film, much like half the vampires that hide out and do the Alpha’s bidding. And right now? She has her sights set on Sam. He raises the machete at her. 

“Oh, Sammy,” she sighs out, as if she’s known him all his life, and shakes her head, “Father has been worried.”

“Tell him to go to hell,” Sam grits out, “I’m not going back.”

Her eyes flick to his cuffed hands to the bedpost then back to his face; a rueful smirk. “Is here any better? Father takes care of his favorite. Come home.”

“It’s not my---”

A distinct sound cuts him off; reminds him of the deliman cutting meat at the market. They both glance over to see Dean standing over another dead vampire, two separate heads now on the floor. He releases an exhale, points his machete at the last standing vamp. 

She whips her head at Sam, alarm written over her features. “He will not be happy.”

Sam responds by simply throwing the machete in her direction. It gets her in the chest, center mass. Her whole body is jolted back by the force and there’s a satisfying  _ shink! _ It won’t kill her but it’ll send a good message. She roars, tears the machete from her body with an awful sound of flesh tearing and tosses toward Dean, who expertly dodges it. 

Vampires, in general, are pretty fast. Even when injured, Sam has seen them move around quick. So he’s not entirely surprised when she dashes out the door, making for a good escape when Dean advances on her. Predictable. Sam doesn’t expect much from vampire underlings. 

Sam sits back, and he sighs out heavily. His shoulder aches with the previous movements and he mentally curses out the hunter in the room when he remembers it’s dental floss threaded over his wound. 

“Okay,” Dean breathes out after a few quiet moments, “We gotta get outta here.”

“Damn,” Sam murmurs, staring up at the ceiling as he sarcastically continues, “What a great idea---too bad someone didn’t mention that sooner.”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he says, moving around the corpses to the bed. Sam watches him carefully. “Let’s go. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“And I’m just supposed to follow you?”

“You wanna stick around for the authorities or more vamps?”

Sam narrows his eyes at him. He’s got a point but Sam also knows he wants him along for bait anyway. A rock and a hard place. His life story, at this point. What’s he supposed to do? How’s he supposed to get away from all this? 

The Colt. That’s his objective right now. If he can get the Colt, he’ll be protected against the Alpha and maybe he could be free. Live that normal life that had been stolen from him for twenty-three years. This guy could lead him there. 

“Fine.”

  
  


\---

  
  


On the first night, Sam had been able to convince everyone to sleep in the living room of the most livable looking house they could find. And, honestly, there weren’t many options, considering the other three appeared as if they had been burned down, got hit by a tornado or both. So the fact the group of misfit survivors found a house with most of the windows intact was a bit of a miracle. 

Sam had expected them to come that night. The nest couldn’t have been too far. With the density of the woods and the type of trees in the area, Sam had to guess they had all been taken to the midwest. And he had been in New England; he figures the Alpha would find him in maybe...twelve hours? So Sam was simply biding his time. 

After establishing the basic rules, the rest of the group began shuffling blankets and abandoned clothing to create makeshift beds. Sam got the expected disbelieving comments when he lined all the point of entries with the salt he had been collecting on their first trip scouting the town. But it was brushed off when Monique quietly admitted she’d rather sleep knowing they’re being protected in every way possible. Jake offered to take the first shift. 

At first, Sam didn’t realize it was a dream. The gentle nudge at his shoulder startled him and he was blinking at a man he didn’t recognize. It took him a few seconds to collect his bearings, to catch the scent of mildew and rotten eggs, to understand it was well into the night, to realize he was not at Father’s mansion. 

“Easy, Sam,” came the awful calm voice, the bearer pressing a finger to his lips and a side glance to the sleeping and scattered young adults in the room. 

It hadn’t been the idea of an intruder that had startled him at first. No, it had been the eyes. Like solar flares, bright and malevolent. Yellow eyes. From what he  understood  about demons, he knew most bore the tell-tale sign of black eyes. Red meant crossroads. White and yellow were high ranking. Looking at them now, however, was a whole different issue. He felt cold. 

“I’m dreaming,” he said. There’s no way he could get past the salt lines, high ranking or not. 

“Let’s go for a walk, Sammy,” the demon said with a grin. 

Cautiously, Sam followed the demon outside. It felt real. With knowing the demon was manipulating his dreams, it was easier to control the fear. Perhaps Sam was a bit curious too. If the demon came to him, then maybe he could get information on why they were all taken to this ghost town. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Sammy,” the demon commented, “You mad at me?”

_ Not Sammy _ , he wants to say. 

“Why are you talking to me?” Sam questioned and with a rueful smile, “You gonna kill me?”

“Oh, no, Sam,” Yellow Eyes turned around, “I’m rootin’ for ya.”

  
  


\---

  
  


“This is your idea?” Sam monotones as he stands in front of the beat up pick up. A Ford truck, built sometime in the 90’s and he’s not betting it’ll take them across the state. “Steal a car? How’d you get here in the first place?”

“Had to ditch the first one after you bled all over it. And my baby is miles away with another hunter,” Dean mutters as he uses the machete to pry between the window and the door, effectively unlocking the driver’s side. “Had a demon comin’ in hot and, long story short, he had to take off with Baby and I followed the trail to you.”

“Uh huh,” Sam deadpans, glancing around to be sure no one sees them. “And where are we going anyway?”

“Not tellin’ you.”

Sam scoffs, throws up his hands. The handcuffs around his wrist jingle and he’s half-tempted to just take off. It had been irritating enough the guy made him watch as he quickly packed everything up and then take away the machete. Now he has to ride along in a stolen vehicle. Not that he hasn’t thought of doing it himself but he’d like some control over this increasingly wild situation. 

More vampires will keep coming, he knows. Father doesn’t like to lose his things. And then there’s a fucking yellow eyed monster haunting his sleep, telling him about being a champion of sorts. Sam never wanted to be leader of anything; he’d won because he had simply fought  _ back _ , not because he wanted to win, and he’s stuck with the default option and a hunter who is far too pretty to be this fucking annoying. 

“Get in, we gotta get movin’.”

About ten miles down the road and three rough drafts of escape plans later, Dean decides it’s a good idea to start a conversation. 

“So those vamps knew who you were.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, simply continues looking out the window. 

“Wanna share with the class how a human got caught up with a nest like that?”

Again, Sam stays quiet. 

_ Got abducted to be one of the Alpha vampire’s children when I was twelve. Eleven years later, I got kidnapped by demons and now I’m in handcuffs because of some overachieving hunter.  _ It could be summarized quite easily, he thinks. But, honestly? Sam knows there’s going to be more questions that follow and he’s not interested. At the very least, he’d have to explain  _ who _ the Alpha is. This guy has no fucking clue who stumbled across. 

He side glances at the hunter in the driver’s seat, eyes skating over his form and then he turns back to the window. Maybe he doesn’t know who the fuck he stumbled across either. In any other situation, taking on three vampires at once would have ended up with him dead. But this guy pulled through. And now they’re driving with vampire remains, wrapped up in a sun worn tarp in the back of a battered, stolen pick-up. 

Sam has witnessed quite a few hunters die in his time. It all ends the same. The hunters either get turned and then slowly die of starvation or simply get shredded on the spot. He’s had to dig deep somewhere inside himself to find a numbness to the sheer violence he was exposed to from the age of twelve.

He figures his real dad didn’t offer much for his childhood either. A hunter raising a kid probably results in the same desensitization. Although, there’s something different when it came to Sam’s strange upbringing. The Alpha would bring him into the room whenever they murdered human hunters, specifically. As if quietly warning what happens to those who defy the vampiric order. 

He supposes it became a routine after the Alpha finally broke him. Bringing him the evidence his brother had been murdered killed off any rebellion Sam would have for a very long time. 

No, he can’t just tell a stranger all that. He can’t even begin to confront it himself. 

“I’m gonna take a wild guess here, okay?” he begins and Sam truly wishes he wouldn’t. “You got pulled into some shit, they have somethin’ over you or whatever, and now they want you back for whatever reason. And with that whole mess in that town, you’re over your head.”

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs out.

“Did you make a demon deal?” A scoff escapes Sam. Not that he hadn’t been tempted as a kid but he’d like to be given more credit than that. 

“Look, you’re not makin’ this easy.”

“Then stop asking questions,” Sam tells him, still refusing to look away from the window. 

“I need to know what’s happenin’, ‘kay?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“If you made a deal with Yellow Eyes, then it just could be. I’m a hunter, this is what I do and--”

“Would you just stop it already?” Sam finally explodes, throwing up his hands and pointedly scowling at him, “You won’t end up a hero in this---trust me. It’s not gonna get you any closure to whatever happened to you. Yellow Eyes won’t stop until he gets his damn champion and even then, he wants a lot more than that. You’re just one hunter, man. It’s not enough.”

It’s rather quiet after that. Dean doesn’t say a word and Sam feels like he should have just not said a word and continued looking out the damn dirty window. 

He gets alarmed when the truck pulls into a dirt road that seems to go on forever and open fields encase it. After a minute, Dean parks the truck and gets out and Sam’s pulse quickens. 

Had he revealed too much? Had Dean finally gotten tired of interrogating him? Sam looks around for any blunt objects in the truck, anything to protect himself. 

“Hey,” Dean surprises him, knocking on the glass to get his attention, “Get out here and help me burn these bodies.”

A strange type of relief floods Sam then. He feels it throughout his body. Still, he begrudgingly gets out to drag the tarp out into the field as Dean begins digging a rather shallow pit to dump the remains. 

It’s his paranoia, he realizes. Since birth, Sam’s lived in a dangerous world. Always suspicious of anything and everything. Dean shouldn’t be an exception; it’s his learned conditioning that has him believing Dean will drop him the second he doesn't get what he wants. And maybe he still will but it dawns upon Sam that this guy has yet to hurt him. Even stitched up his shoulder. Still, he has one wrist cuffed and he’s being dragged to God knows where. 

He can’t explain it but there’s something familiar about the way they talk to each other. And with that familiarity, there’s a sense of safety. It could just be his nam---nah. He’s not going into that rabbit hole of thoughts. If he does, then he’ll get caught up in other types of shame he’d rather not explore. 

He watches Dean closely, quietly taking him in. In another life, Sam thinks he and Dean could have been something. Friends, partners,  _ whatever _ . Dean would make a good friend. Maybe. He’d like to think he would have made a good one too. 

His eyes flick to Dean’s hip, where a certain treasure resides in a holster. There, hardly covered by the leather jacket, sits the Colt. He breathes in, formulating another halfcocked plan on the fly. He’s getting good at improvising thus far. Why not?

They drag the bloodied tarp into the hole and Sam purposely missteps, nearly falling into the pit. Dean catches him just in the nick of time, grabs his wrist and yanks him close. Just as he thought he would. But---

Sam doesn’t breathe for a few moments. Maybe he had expected something different. An impersonal exchange, perhaps. But Dean’s staring directly at him, too close. It’s like the other night, when they had caught each other staring for far too long. Pretty green eyes and body warmth that Sam hasn’t felt since being taken by cold-blooded monsters. 

“You good?” Dean murmurs. 

Sam thinks he could kiss him, if there wouldn’t be repercussions for it. Why is he so drawn to this idiot hunter?

He clears his throat, averting his gaze and letting one of his hands fall down to Dean’s side for a moment. It’s just enough time to get a sleight of hand he needs. He nods and backs away. “Yeah, thanks.”

Dean nods back and turns away to grab a can of gasoline. Sam takes that time to tuck the Colt in the small of his back and look expectantly at Dean. The lighter gets tossed in and the whole thing goes up in flames. Sam thinks of how it’s such a waste of a good zippo. Should have used the hotel matches. 

Once upon a time, this had been a scene straight out of his childhood. The easy type of hunts. Standing over a burning grave and standing beside the most important person in his world. He pushes the thought away, though. He’s been remembering a lot lately. 

Eventually, the fire burns out and they fill the pit once more. 

“You ready, Colton?”

“Yeah…” Sam mumbles before shooting a glance at the distant treeline. He could make it. Maybe. 

“One more thing--” Dean begins before snatching Sam’s wrist. The touch is warm but still a shock. 

“What the fuck--!”

Dean jerks him into his space and his hand pulls away to reveal the Colt. Sam sighs, irritation bubbling forth once more. There’s a sarcastic smile on Dean’s face. 

“I’m not stupid. So this is what I’m gonna do,” he says as he grabs the other cuff, “You’re not going anywhere unless I’m there.”

And with that, Dean attaches the other cuff to his own wrist. Sam gapes at him. “Are you insane?”

“Yep, now let’s head out.”

  
  


\---

  
  


After another two hours and a tense atmosphere, Dean decides it’s a good idea to stop before sundown. Bright side: Sam found a straight pin in the seat, so there’s that. Getting a room takes some navigating, since Sam had to slide out begrudgingly through the driver’s side, as they were still attached. And acquiring a key for the room meant standing closer together to hide the cuffs behind the counter and a high twenty-something guy who threw them a room number on the far side. 

Sam says nothing, just as he said nothing on the entire trip here. Surprisingly, Dean does the same. If he had to guess, he’d say Dean’s equally irritated. But Sam’s not the one who’s keen on holding someone captive, so he’s not about to be worried about Dean’s feelings. 

He’s aching for a shower or just to splash some water over his face, at least, when they get inside the room. Dean drops a duffle bag by the door and Sam stuffs his free hand in his pocket as they stand there quietly. It becomes very clear that Dean’s fabulous idea of cuffing them together was going to become a huge issue soon. 

Dean clears his throat. “So. You hungry?”

Sam heads straight for the bed against the wall, dragging Dean with him, and sits down, allowing both their arms hang between them. He has the childish urge to cross his arms but he can’t even do that, which makes it all the more frustrating. He glares up at the hunter. 

“I want a shower,” Sam says, sarcasm beginning to creep into his tone as he continues, “I want a ticket for a bus. And I want to get the fuck away from this whole situation.”

“Gimme a sec, I think I still got the number for a genie,” Dean deadpans back. 

Sam narrows his eyes, pulls out the tiny pin he had snagged from the truck and begins picking the lock to the cuffs. Dean immediately gasps, tugging his cuffed hand in an obvious attempt to make Sam cease. 

“Right in front of me? Seriously?” Dean sounds more offended than when they faced off the vampires. Sam takes some pleasure in that. 

Not stopping for one second, Sam grumbles, “You’re only punishing yourself by doing this. I can make this  _ so  _ much harder for you.”

“Okay, Jesus!” Dean raises his other hand, rolling his eyes. He begins to head to the bathroom but that jerks Sam and he nearly tumbles forward off the bed. Dean blinks and breathes in. “This is gonna be a problem.” 

Sam wants to throttle him. 

  
  


\---

  
  


After figuring out how to use the restroom, which mostly consisted of Dean talking all the way through it (probably to relieve the tension), Dean ordered a pizza. During the wait, he began flipping through the channels. Sam, meanwhile, had to be grateful that at least the twin beds were close enough so that his arm wasn’t straining. 

Dean settles on some horror flick from the 80’s that Sam vaguely recalls when the pizza finally arrives. They get a weird look from the pizza man but he supposes the tip is enough to not warrant a question about the cuffs. Sam’s half tempted to joke about being a hostage but thinks better about it when he realizes it might hit too close to home. They sit together on Dean’s bed to eat quietly. 

Part of him knows Dean doesn’t mean him harm. And he knows he’s just a hunter, hellbent on revenge or some glorified mission but it’s---he doesn’t want this. He remembers sitting alone in his room at the Alpha’s mansion, surrounded by literature and anything material he could ever ask for and wishing for another life. 

He remembers thinking he could have been a lot of things in his life. There’s probably no chance of that now. If this goes sideways, he’ll be caught in the crossfire between that demon and Dean’s quest. Best case scenario? The nest drags him back to Father and it’s the same life over again until he’s turned. 

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Sam snaps his eyes up to meet green ones, thrown by the comment. It’s strangely off-putting. Something that reminds him of sunshower smiles and  _ Hiya Sammy _ . He swallows, blinks the thought away. But it’s too late. His chest feels lighter with the momentary high, something dredged up from years ago. 

Around a bite of pizza, “What’s goin’ on in that head?”

Sam averts his gaze, narrowing his eyes at the terrible pattern on the comforter. “If this plan of yours works---to use me as bait---you’ll let me use the Colt still?”

“You mean after that stunt you pulled? Yeah, I keep my word. We made a deal,” Dean shrugs. Sam has a few seconds to wonder how Dean keeps interpersonal relationships. Does he try this hard with other people he comes across or is Sam a special case because he needs him?

“And we won’t see each other again?”

“Don’t worry, princess, you’ll never see this mug again.”

Sam considers him. Dean’s connected to other hunters; said so himself. But thus far, it feels like he’s a loner. Not by choice, either. Just---he’s alone. Like Sam has been. And if Sam knows anything about loneliness, it’s that it fosters well-kept secrets. 

It’s too bad Sam has too many. Maybe it’s time to share one. 

It could be worse, he thinks. Dean offers some security, at least. There’s not much promise in the deal. No guarantee they’ll get to see it through because this psycho wants to take on a high ranking demon. But it’s just enough to spur Sam into trusting him with the information he wanted. 

“The demon…” he begins quietly, avoiding his eyes. “I think he put the whole thing together. We… I started having visions a year ago. They started small. Things in my visions---they came true.”

Dean stays quiet, which he’s grateful for but it throws him off and he looks for a reaction. It’s neutral and reminds him much of that steel reserve he used to read about as a teenager; characters with hearts of gold and hard resolve. 

“I was in the gardens when they took me. I woke up in that town with others like me. They all had these---abilities. And then the demon came to me---in a dream,” Sam frowns at the memory. It still seems all too real, as if he’d been transported in time. The scream of his mother, the heat of the flames. “He showed me how we all got those abilities. Demon blood. He fed it to us as babies. All so that he could throw us in some twisted competition.”

Saying it means admitting to the evil that festers within him. 

In some ways, maybe Sam always had known there was something wrong with him. His dad treated him differently, as if he could sense it. But maybe it goes beyond that. He couldn’t ever...conform. Refused to cut his hair, wanted to stay in one school in a small town, rebelled every chance he got. With the Alpha, it had been no different. 

When the yellow-eyed demon showed him what had occurred, Sam denied it. Now he’s said it aloud and it feels like the truth. This is what’s plagued him all along. Why he’d been taken by the vampires; kept because Father must have sensed a matching darkness in a twelve year old boy. Why he’s running from a demon now. 

“So it’s been poisoning kids all over the world?” Dean murmurs, catching Sam off guard. “Shit.”

He feels defeated. It’s the one thing he had held onto this entire encounter and now he’s handed it over. “Yeah.”

“And you won the whole thing?”

For a couple moments, he sees a flash of Jake’s face. A soldier, just doing what he could in an incredibly unreal situation. Jake Talley was trained for fighting insurgents and  _ human _ enemies. Then he’s got superhuman strength and having to hide it from his company. Even that couldn’t save him. In the end, he fell on the knife Sam was able to pick up just in time. 

Sam thinks he’s going to be reliving that for awhile. 

“I didn’t---I didn’t  _ want _ to,” Sam falters, bringing a hand over his face. And,  _ god _ , he didn’t want to win  _ anything _ . Jake wanted to survive; he had believed Sam the first two days when he told them they would all get out of there. But they didn’t and Jake lost hope. Sam would have died there in the mud, left behind. He shudders. Jake’s body is still there and he had just...walked away. 

Another hand takes his wrist, strangely gentle and nonthreatening. Sam holds his breath as it’s removed from his sight until he spies the man in front of him, leaning forward. Those green eyes trained on him, stripping what had been left of his resolve. 

Dean holds his gaze for a long few moments. For a fraction of a second, his eyes flick to Sam’s mouth, then back to his eyes. His pulse kicks into another gear, along with a spark of want. Dean’s fingers are still around his wrist and now both their hands are connected. He could kiss him, Sam thinks And he wants to. Like a dull ache that won’t subside. What is wrong with him? 

“Colton, it’s okay,” Dean murmurs. 

_ Not Colton.  _

“You did what you had to,” and then there’s a small smirk on his lips, “Besides, as long as I’m around, nothing bad is gonna happen. We’re gonna gank the son of a bitch and you’ll get to your life.”

_ Not gonna hurt you. _

“Yeah. Sure,” Sam breathes out, nods. For once, there’s no sarcasm. 

Maybe he’d like to think this promise has enough merit. Maybe it’s just the accumulation of events finally washing over him. He feels boneless, exhausted. But that one line Dean keeps saying has him stay in the present. And he hates that.

Something shifts inside Sam, like something’s fallen into place. It’s that familiarity again. Part of him worries over it because it comes with a whole set of emotions that shouldn’t exist. This hunter could be a perfect substitute for a loss and that should disturb Sam greatly. 

Dean finally lets go of his wrist and looks down at the terribly designed comforter they’re sitting on. A frown is etched into his features and Sam tilts his head expectantly. 

“Earlier,” Dean begins and Sam has a sinking feeling he won’t like it, “With the vamps. One of ‘em said somethin’.”

There’s a lot of ways this could go badly because they said  _ a lot _ of things. Sam racks his brain to account every word. He thinks about the female vampire talking about Father and going back home. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding since the touch from before but now it’s beating hard because of slight panic. 

He doesn’t say anything but that doesn’t deter Dean, apparently. “I think they said a name but…” 

Sam holds his breath. Shit.  _ Oh, Sammy _ , she had said. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If he’s being honest, he had given his middle name as a spur-of-the-moment thing. He hadn’t trusted Dean and he doesn’t. But he could give him that, at least, right? Maybe. But part of him doesn’t want to because---

\---why? What’s stopping him?

“No, I don’t think so,” Sam murmurs, setting aside the rest of his pizza and daring a peek at Dean.

He simply nods, the frown still present but he doesn’t say anything more about it. “Okay.” 

It’s quiet after that. Not as much tension as before, strangely. In fact, it’s easier. He feels lighter. One secret had held so much weight and now he’s found someone else to share it with. He hasn’t decided yet if that had been a mistake. 

They eventually fall asleep, their wrists linked between the beds. 

  
  


\---

At twenty-two, Sam Winchester had become complacent in most things. 

There’s only so much the human mind can take before it becomes used to casual violence and formal threats. He was regarded as the little human prince as a child. The Alpha never let him forget it and heaven forbid any vampires from his ranks forgot it either, as any disrespect was met with a swift end. 

Training was different with the nest. It was sneakier, focused on stealth and tracking. Hunting in a whole new form compared to his dad, who cared little about asking questions. In and out jobs. Vampires gave themselves time, for they had the clock in their favor. Prey seldom did. He was taught to wait; watch a target and, like a viper, lash out at the vulnerabilities foreseen. 

There had been a time when Sam wrote down memories. Not exactly words, really. Crude drawings of maps of the towns he favored. That field somewhere in Iowa, with a sky lit up by illegal fireworks and arms encasing him. The block he went Trick or Treating for the first and last time in Los Angeles, dressed as Superman to his Batman. The cover of a book he’d stolen from a small town library; an old book of the Grim Brothers tales because he favored the story of Hansel and Gretel and their many perils. 

Sam stopped remembering a lot. Until the visions came. 

He saw kids, struggling and tortured by unseen forces. Young adults, weighed down by whatever ailed them. People dying around them because of---what? He didn’t understand it. These were random people he’d never met or even seen before but somehow he had been connected. 

One particular vision still stands out. One of a faceless man who jumps in a lake to save a drowning boy. Now the jacket looks familiar, the haircut and the build. But he couldn’t be sure, not even now. 

Finally, after these visions continued, he brought it to the Alpha. Dinner never really consisted of the traditional setting of an American lifestyle. Sam and any other new human child Father had staying with them would eat at the table. But the Alpha merely sat with them, the crystal glass at his right with only a few sips every now and then. When they were alone, Sam mentioned them. 

For the first time, in quite awhile, the stony features of the Alpha changed to a particular interest. Sam described a couple instances and the Alpha, as always, listened carefully. He hummed after the stories were told, nodding once. 

“I see,” he said and offered a tight smile, as if that was all he could ever muster. Sam was always convinced a creature that had seen Pangea itself found little on the earth to amuse themselves with anymore. “Will you write them down for me, my son?”

Sam did what was asked of him. Wrote down the visions and placed them upon the huge oak desk in the study. But after those, he couldn’t quite stop there. He began revisiting memories of his life before the nest. Those fireworks on the Fourth of July, sunshower smiles and a rebellious nature. Little things he could remember before twelve years old. 

And then the demons took him at the edge of the gardens. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Showering is a whole mission. When he brings it to Dean’s attention he hasn’t gotten the chance to get clean at all since before he had been taken by demons, the hunter grunted out something about pretty boys being high maintenance. 

There’s no saving his clothes. Sam has to cut through both the jacket and shirt, with some help. He doesn’t feel flustered when the clothes come off. It’s a relief, finally being able to rid himself of them. Dean, on the other hand, seems to be suffering a bit. At one point, Sam thinks the hunter might just uncuff them on the principle but somehow he keeps to the stupid idea.

Carefully, Dean helps him with the bandaged shoulder. He takes out the stitches (the fucking  _ dental floss _ ) and inspects the wound. It’s far better than he had expected. It’d be considered a nick for a hunter’s standards. Sam thinks that Dean might have overreacted but, at the time, he thought he had a civilian bleeding out. His leg still aches but after a few ibuprofens, he hardly feels it. 

Sam steps into the shower, grateful for hot water and soap. Dean’s on the other side, their wrists still connected, and he had slid the curtain far enough to obscure Sam and probably hope no water got on him. Sam rolls his eyes. It’s his own fault if his clothes get wet---he could simply take the cuffs off. 

Washing his hair with one hand is hard enough but when he feels Dean jerk his wrist, as if to prove a point, Sam acts on impulse. He jerks back and probably a bit too much. 

Dean makes a noise of surprise before he’s tumbling forward into the shower, flailing with the curtain. And when that small battle is over, he’s glaring right at Sam, getting hit with hot water. Sam bursts out laughing, the previous annoyances abadting.

“Glad you find this funny, punk,” Dean grumbles, wiping a hand over his face, as if it’d help. 

Sam shakes his head at the display, still snickering to himself. He brings both hands to his hair, finally able to wash out the rest of the shampoo. The action draws Dean even closer and suddenly Sam thinks of how bad of an idea this had been. 

Pretty green eyes and freckles. He thinks it may have been his type, once upon a time. Before the demons, before vampires. Maybe. He’d rather not dissect why. The answer comes with a lot of baggage. 

Dean’s staring up at him, obviously about to say something before those eyes drop to his mouth. Sam swallows, keeping his hands where they had faltered in his hair. Jesus. He’s so stuck on this hunter.

Sam makes one more impulsive move. They’re so close, it’s no trouble at all to press his lips against Dean’s. Something about it feels as if he’s a thief, stealing a kiss away before he could lose the chance. With that thought, he snaps away, ready to stammer out an apology or---anything. 

But Dean’s surging forward, capturing his mouth with more ferocity than Sam had held. Despite the heat of the water, Sam has to repress a shudder as Dean’s tongue sweeps at his bottom lip. The hand that is cuffed is brought to the side of his face and Sam places his over it, the free hand lightly grasping at the wet jacket, as if to keep him in place. Lust begins to stir in his gut and it doesn’t take long for him to brush away any other concern. 

A moan slips out and it’s returned by another. Dean’s tongue brushes against his own when he allows entry. His hand dips lower, curious and fueled by the interest he hadn’t been privy to until now, Sam tests his luck. Running his hand over the belt and then further south, he finds what he’d been looking for. A small gasp from Dean breaks the kiss as Sam rakes his nails against the material, right over the hard cock trapped underneath. 

Sam smirks  when he meets Dean’s eyes  as he does it again, chasing that reaction. Instead, he receives another kiss. Something softer, lighter. It throws him off but doesn’t quell the lust buzzing beneath his skin. He nips Dean’s bottom lip and presses harder. It incites another reaction. Dean has Sam against the showerwall now. His cock rubs against Dean’s hip and his whimper is smothered by the kiss. 

“ _ Dean _ ,” he hisses against his lips. And he truly wishes he didn’t.

It snaps Dean out of the spell. He can feel his muscles stiffen through the wet clothes that press against his body. He holds his breath, watches as Dean slowly detaches himself. He shudders when his heat leaves him, aching and wanting. The beginnings of cold dismay creep up inside his mind as he realizes what’s happening. 

Still face-to-face, Sam stares at those green eyes once again. Dean looks wrecked, as if he’d shattered something. Wide-eyed, Sam searches for an answer or anything that can reel this back in. 

“We---I can’t,” Dean murmurs, averting his gaze. “I’m---”

“What?” Sam asks, shocking himself at how his voice sounds. Breathless, like all his energy had been stolen by the very man in front of him. 

And Dean just stands there, pelted by the shower and stares with that broken look on his damn face. He wants to question him why, what changed. But, honestly, he could ask himself the same. He  _ wanted _ Dean. Caught alight by something buried and he doesn’t even know where it had come from. 

(That’s a lie. He knows. He’s just not willing to acknowledge it. He’s not an idiot. The center of his world had been taken from him and this feels like snatching up something remotely close. It’s fucked up. He shouldn’t have… Sam knows better. He just doesn’t want to  _ do _ better.)

“I’m---I’m sorry, Colton,” Dean says. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

_ Colton _ . 

This has gone on long enough, hasn’t it? The fake name, fake life, fake  _ everything _ . He’s told Dean about the demon, what’s one more admission? There’s a thought in his head that tells him it might make it worse. It’ll change everything, even though that’s crazy, right? The only person who would care about his real name is long gone and---Sam just needs to get over it. 

He opens his mouth but Dean cuts him off. 

“We should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah,” Sam says and leaves it there, defeated. 

  
  


\---

  
  


They don’t talk about it, obviously. 

Where Sam comes from, it’s been easy not to discuss anything close on an emotional level. His biological family ran on orders, late nights and revenge. The nest thrived in silence, obedience and cold murder. There had never been a time and a place to talk things through. 

It’s no surprise to Sam that this hunter is the same way. 

He’s quiet when he uncuffs them, not meeting his eyes. Sam’s actually grateful for it. 

On some level, he thinks he should feel disappointment for the outright rejection. Despite him instigating a move, Dean still has him there; trapped, in a way. Dean’s uncomfortable with the power dynamics of this already strained bond, if he could call it that. If Sam has any guess, he’d say that played a factor in him stopping what was going to happen. 

And what  _ was _ going to happen? Sam steals a look from the hunter, driving in another old pick up they’d stolen. His eyes are dead set on the road, nearly ignoring Sam’s existence for now. Sam flicks his gaze quickly over the jawline he hadn’t gotten to press his mouth to, the broad shoulders he wishes he’d appreciated more back there, the lips that were sealed over his. 

Very briefly, Sam brings two fingertips to his mouth, wipes away the kiss as if it could still be there. 

He’s not mad. Just---disappointed. And maybe that’s what bothers him more. Dean had been right. They made a deal and, despite Sam knowing he can be a flight risk nearly at all times, he appreciates the promise of that. There’s still time for Dean to go back on it but, strangely, he doesn’t feel like he will. But Sam’s been wrong before. 

Ever since he saw his face that night, in the rain and sprawled in the mud, Sam’s been hooked. And he’s been lashing out because of it. There’s something familiar about Dean and it’s all too coincidental. 

He wonders, wildly, if the demon gave Dean to him as some type of lure. The perfect trap. It would be perfect to use Sam’s past against him and the demon would know it. What sweet torture, he thinks. 

He wants to break the ice with  _ something _ . But nothing comes to mind. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to. 

“You’re not evil,” Dean says, honestly out of nowhere. 

Sam eyes him for the corner of his eye, carefully. His heart skips a beat at the words but he schools his expression. There it is.  _ Evil _ . Something to be put down. At least, to any hunter, he should be. He knows it. If Dean had to say the word, it means he’s been considering it. Sam feels his teeth grit instinctively. 

“For killin’ that guy,” Dean eleborates. Sam swallows, looks out his window with water stains and dust obscuring his view. “Or for the demon’s messin’ you up before you were even outta the crib. Or for whatever the vamps have over your head. You just…”

Sam waits for it, shuts his eyes tight. 

“You did what you had to do. You just got it real fuckin’ rough,” Dean sighs out, “And then you got some crazy hunter wanting to use you too. I don’t want you to---” He cuts himself off. 

Finally, Sam looks at him. There’s a heavy weight in his chest, something familiar but also distant. Like something he’s forgotten. A burden left behind and haunting him now. 

_ Sunshower smiles, motor oil and Hiya Sammy’s. Nothing’s gonna hurt ya. _

“I don’t,” Sam says, suddenly, before he can even think to stop himself. “After this, it’s over.”

“Is it?” Dean throws back at him but his voice sounds different. Strained. And then he’s glancing at him, maybe for a bit too long and Sam thinks of telling him to look at the damn road. “Is it over for you?”

“Yeah,” Sam frowns, feeling some anxiety with his own answer. “The Colt will change everything.”

“That’s the hope,” Dean mutters. “But after all this---where are you gonna go?”

“Anywhere but here,” but he really doesn’t know. He doesn’t even have a valid ID anymore. As far as the world knows, Sam Winchester disappeared at the age of twelve and hasn’t been seen since. “Why do you even care?”

It sounded cruel to Sam’s ears. He should have said it differently but he’d thrown it to Dean with no real thought behind it. There’s a space in between both question and answer that Sam sees something flicker across Dean’s face. A resolve being shattered away before it could be born into a true idea. But it’s gone. 

“Just curious, I guess.”

Sam doesn’t have to ask Dean what his plans are. Once a hunter, always a hunter.

  
  


\---

  
  


There’s a familiar tune playing over the radio. Or it’s a cassette tape. Playing Led Zeppelin. He has an strained fondness for the song. His brother used to play it over and over until Sam could recite the damn words in his sleep. 

He had been taking a nap. Must have dozed off for the ride to wherever the fuck they’re heading. Sam breathes in deeply, having the impulse to shut the music off. 

“Hiya, Sammy.”

Sam jumps in his seat, snapping his gaze to the driver. Yellow Eyes, like a dying sun. He slides as close to the other side as possible, fully alarmed. 

“Whoa, there,” the demon says with that damn grin. “Don’t got much time here. You’ve been on the move and it’s not easy to track you.”

“I’m dreaming.”

“You’re good at this.”

Sam closes his eyes, runs a hand through his hair. “Get outta my head.”

“Now, see, that would be easy to do but you keep running from me.”

“Just stay the  _ fuck  _ away from me,” he hisses through gritted teeth. 

“With the others,” the demon continues, “I could have threatened families, lives, whatever.” A dismissive wave of the hand. “But with you, Sammy, it’s different. You got nothing.”

Sam shudders. 

Nothing. 

That’s right. Nothing has never gotten to be his, with the exception of memories. There’s not a thing left to take from Sam Winchester. Lost his mother to flames. His father is either dead or has given up. And his brother---

“I could give him back.”

He feels numb. It’s in his head, he should know better not to be shocked by it. But it’s still awful to know. The one thing to bend his will is his brother and the demon knows it. Sam feels flayed open by that fact. It’s been obvious since the start, hasn’t it? His affection for his brother had never been something he could hide away. Everyone saw it. The Alpha used it against him and now he was left hollow. 

“You do this one little favor, Sam, and I can bring him back to you. Just how you remember him.”

Sunshower smiles, motor oil, illegal fireworks,  _ hiya Sammy _ ’s. It could all be his once more. Part of him feels guilty for only wishing for his brother. It makes it worse knowing that’s what Yellow Eyes understands about him too. 

But Sam’s life revolved around a single star and Sam was just always in that orbit. Maybe he never left it. The truth is, eleven years is a long time. The best he can hold onto is the  _ idea _ of his brother. He can hardly recall faces. Just the feeling he’d get when a smile was directed his way; that source of joy snuffed out by cold-blooded creatures of the night. 

“C’mon, Sam. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Sam locks eyes with the monster in the driver’s seat. “Go fuck yourself.”

A sigh. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. You’ll know where to meet me.”

It snaps its fingers and then there’s nothing.

  
  


\---

  
  


Sam wakes with a gasp, snapping up in his seat with a light weight on his chest. Snapping his attention down, he spies the hand that quickly retracts and then to the man behind the wheel. He blinks rapidly, forcing himself to awareness as he recognizes his surroundings. 

It’s the same beat up truck, same tune playing, same positions but the driver is who it’s supposed to be.  _ Dean _ . His heart feels like it’s been through a marathon and he has to take another few seconds to gather his wits while the hunter is talking to him. 

“---but we’re almost there, okay?”

Sam frowns, rubbing one eye and breathing out a, “What?”

“I said you were havin’ a nightmare,” Dean supplies, eyes back on the road, “Or somethin’. I don’t know. Thought you’d rather be in the land of the living.”

“Oh.”

The frown stays on his features, something like an afterthought scratching at the back of his mind. Nightmare is an understatement but he’s not completely concerned about that. There’s...something new. Something he needs to remember. 

Sam frantically opens the glove department, shuffling through the random junk there until he pulls out a map. 

“Whoa there, you good?”

“I think…” Sam mutters, eyes scanning the map of the U.S., “I think I know where he wants me to be.”

“Who?” Dean demands. If Sam had more time, he’d guess Dean’s default reaction for confusion is generally a more assertive attitude. Reminds him of his dad. Sam doesn’t think much beyond that. “Yellow Eyes? How do you---?”

“He gave me...a location, I think? I don’t know,” he narrows his vision to the midwest. Not completely right but...close. He closes his eyes, attempts to remember anything from the literature he read while under the Alpha’s watchful eye. “There’s a gate. He wants me to open it.”

“A gate? For what?”

“For Hell,” Sam whispers, opens his eyes and looks at Dean. He shakes his head. “That’s why he put us through the competition. The winner gets to open a gate to Hell.”

“Shit.”

He’s not going to do it. He  _ can’t  _ do it. There’s no way they can go through with this. Sam’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding and later he’ll wonder if that means palpitations. This feels like a fact cementing itself. He’s meant to do this; it’s all been planned since he was born. Meant to be surrounded by death, whether it’s his fault or not. 

_ You’re not evil. _

Sam stares at Dean, pleadingly. “If I go there, it means---”

“It doesn’t mean shit,” Dean snaps. “ _ Stop. _ Just stop it. We go there and kill the fucker and it’s  _ over _ .”

For Dean. It’ll be over for  _ Dean _ . But Sam won’t know until they go. And he truly doesn’t want to know. He keeps surviving these situations and everyone around him pays this awful price for it. The demon wanted to infect him and his mother died for it. His father was driven insane by that. And his brother paid the price for Sam’s rebellion. 

He keeps trying and it never stops. This man, jewel-green eyes and all freckles, will pay it too. When this is all through, Sam will be walking out alone. Again. 

“ _ Dean _ .”

He spies the tick in Dean’s jaw at the sound of his name and it’s such an odd reaction that Sam says it again. 

“Dean, we can’t go---”

“We’re goin’.”

Sam grits his teeth, shoves the map between them and huffs. “If we go, it means Yellow Eyes is waiting for me. You don’t think he knows I want to stop him?”

“Does he know you’re with me?”

That causes Sam to pause.  _ It’s not easy to track you _ . “I don’t know.”

“We’re goin’.”

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t even have a plan. Just shoot at something. It’s not gonna bring them back. Your family died in a fire and---”

“My mom,” Dean snaps, angrier this time. “My  _ mom _ died in a fire.”

“Okay, well the rest of your family isn’t gonna come back. Mine isn’t either. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be the same. Listen to me---”

“You might be okay with being by yourself,” Dean growls, “But I do this---shoot the fuckin’ demon? At least I can sleep. I lost everyone I ever cared about and it started with that thing!”

“I don’t  _ want _ to be alone,” Sam defends himself and, in hindsight, he’s not sure why he focuses on that bit. “I want my family back too, Dean. But this is opening the gate to  _ Hell _ . There could be more Yellow Eyes. More demons. This goes sideways and the world suffers for it.”

“You’re just scared.”

It feels like a gut punch. He gapes at the man driving, incredulous and feeling betrayed. Scared? Yeah, he’s fucking scared. But he didn’t have to fucking  _ say it _ .

“Scared to face this thing. And that’s okay,” Dean says, quieter this time. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been through but it sounds like you’ve been alone for most of it. But you’ve got help this time. I won’t let you go Dark Side because some demon wants you to.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam murmurs automatically, “Whatever is waiting for us there---”

“Whatever is there hasn’t faced us together yet. It won’t just be you.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say to that. So he crosses his arms and stares out the dirty window. Whatever is there is  _ evil _ . For all Dean knows, he could be delivering the Anti Christ to his rightful place. But it doesn’t matter to the hunter. He’s so bent on getting revenge, it’s not going to matter. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Your hunter friend owns a junkyard?” 

Dean gets out of the truck after parking it by a huge column of stacked cars. Sam’s willing to bet this stolen truck is next to be thrown in the car compactor. It had been a good call but he’s not about to mention that aloud. Maybe he’s still a bit upset, despite the hour spent wordlessly listening to old rock bands on the way here. 

Getting out of the car, Sam inspects the surroundings. There had been a sign out front but he barely glanced at it. It’s a mess, really. An organized mess but still so obviously a junkyard. It’s not a bad set up, though. 

“He’s good at what he does. Has connections. Plus, he’s workin’ on my car,” Dean says in a clipped tone. Sam rolls his eyes. 

“You gonna tell him about…?”

About the vampires. The demon blood. The slaughter that went down in the ghost town. Anything. Maybe Dean’s able to pretend Sam’s not on some road to evil but other hunters won’t see it that way. He remembers the philosophy of that lifestyle. His father would have dropped him if he didn’t know him. Hunters snuff out anything inhuman. 

(Because that’s what he is, right? The nail in the coffin is that the visions could have been a sign of something psychic related but the demon blood seals the deal. He’s no longer human. He can never pretend again. And this...guy, who has only known him for a few days, completely ignores it.  _ Chooses _ to turn a blind eye and, for the life of him, Sam can’t understand why.)

Sam waits on the answer, digging blunt fingernails into the palm of his hand. Dean continues towards the house in the middle of the maze of banged up cars, hands stuffed in the leather jacket. For a moment, staring at Dean’s back, Sam is reminded of a memory from a very long time ago. He can’t quite recall it fully but he thinks it has to do with his childhood. 

“You can trust Bobby.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’ll tell him what he needs to know, Colton,” Dean says, exasperated. Sam feels some annoyance. He  _ knows _ what Sam means and is refusing to give him any reassurance. “You’re safe, okay?”

“Whatever.”

“You’re so fucking difficult,” Dean mutters, glancing Sam’s way. There’s great satisfaction when he does a double take on the smirk Sam’s giving him. “Little shit.”

Sam hums, widening his stride to catch up to Dean. As they get to the porch steps, the screendoor creaks open. It reveals an older man, bushy beard and a fishing cap atop his head. Honestly, it looks like this guy’s default mood is  _ You darn kids get off my lawn! _ But Sam keeps that to himself. 

“Expected you back two days ago,” the man grunts out, still blocking the entrance. His eyes squint at Sam. “You that kid he picked up from Cold Oak?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods his head at Sam, “This is Colton. We think we know where Yellow Eyes might be next.”

That causes a shift in Bobby’s posture. He’s suspicious of Sam; that much he can gather. But he extends a hand out to introduce himself. “Bobby.”

Sam shakes it. “Colton.”

  
  


\---

  
  


“So this is some End-of-the-World shit. What have you gotten yourself into, kid?”

“It all stops when Yellow Eyes gets put down. If we just use Ash’s way, we could figure out where Yellow Eyes is headed, Bobby.”

“It’s been quiet all over the place. Not one cow mutilation or weird storms outta nowhere.”

Sam sits on the couch, quietly listening to the conversation that is certainly not meant for his input. He’d rather not be involved anyway. He glances out the window; there’s about ten different ways he could escape this whole situation. 

He flicks his gaze back to Dean, who continues discussing details with the other hunter. (He could steal a car?)

The Colt rests atop the coffee table in front of him, a stark reminder of what he’s truly there for. (The highway leading north could take him out of the country. He could just bolt.)

He looks at Dean once again. His chest tightens. 

(Why does leaving Dean feel like jumping off a cliff?  _ Safe _ , Dean told him.  _ Not gonna hurt you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. _ Why does he feel obligated to stay with this damn idiot? 

_ You know why _ , he thinks. Dean is a stand-in for a past he had lost. A substitute. And that makes him even more fucked up, actually. Sam thought that part of him had died away ages ago. The Alpha showed him the silver ring, dried blood tainting the shine, and Sam Winchester no longer cared for anything. Then this guy enters his life and he’s that kid again. Rebellious, secretly obsessing and  _ scared _ .)

Dean catches him watching. He gives a smile and a quick wink, turning back to his conversation with Bobby. Sam stills, blinks. His heart could explode. 

_ Sunshower smiles and motor oil.  _

He thins his lips and looks back to the Colt. Beside it is a map of the states, yellowed with age and a bit wrinkled. He bends forward and examines it. Yellow Eyes said he’d know where to find him. But...he can hardly pinpoint a place. 

He swallows. If he lets himself do this, it means giving into that side of him. The one with demon blood. The one that let Jake fall on the knife, the one who let all emotions die when he saw that bloodied ring, the one who the demon wants him to be. 

But Dean said he’d kill the monster. And while that would generally mean nothing, his world has narrowly focused on this man for reasons he’s not willing to address. He’s overwhelmed as it is. 

He breathes out quietly, closes his eyes. Fingertips skim over the paper, searching. Not the midwest. Or is it? Not by the Mississippi, that’s for sure. Further west. North. His finger brushes over a spot and there’s a pinprick. Sharp and clear. 

Wyoming. He frowns, cocking his head. What’s in Wyoming? He thinks back to the literature. Maybe a case or two of some strange monsters. A rumor of a pagen god. But there’s nothing much beyond that---

The Colt. 

Samuel Colt. He had built something there. He just can’t remember what. 

“Wyoming,” Sam says aloud and the room falls silent. Both men across the room stare at him in confusion. “Samuel Colt worked out there. What was it for?”

Dean looks totally lost but Bobby has his face scrunched up, like he’s digging through his own memory bank. “Somethin’ about a railroad. You’d have to give me some time to look it up.”

“I think it’s there.”

“Yellow Eyes?”

Sam nods, turning his attention to Dean. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” Dean says, rather quickly. He looks at Bobby. “Anything we can do to help?”

“Rest up. Sounds like we’re headed to Wyoming pretty soon.”

  
  


\---

  
  


It’s eerie at Bobby’s junkyard at night. He thinks he could grow accustomed to the pop and scraping sounds of metal outside, adjusting to the temperature drop. Or the light shuffling of Bobby’s footfalls downstairs. 

He knows he’s safe from at least demons; he saw the devil’s trap on the living room’s ceiling and the small sigils engraved on the hallway’s walls. Bobby knows his shit. Vampires, on the other hand, may still be out there. He figures the one that got away had to report the failure and there’s surely more on their way. Especially since they’re in the same state. But he supposes the reason it had taken them so long to get across South Dakota is because Dean had taken some backroads and weird routes to give them some time. He hadn’t said anything about it but it would make sense. 

It’s strange being in a room by himself all of a sudden. After sharing a space with Dean for some time, it feels like there’s too much  _ nothingness _ . A closeness that had been so abruptly intimate that Sam grew used to and now it’s gone. 

He had been comfortable by himself for so long. The only meaningful touches he’d receive were from the Alpha; a brief carrass of his cheek or a careful move to brush the hair out of Sam’s eyes. And then there were certain conquests; sexual partners that, if discovered by the Alpha, were sent away for daring to touch the favorite. He hasn’t had to share a space with someone like he has with Dean since...

He lays down in the twin bed, staring at the wall. 

They could die tomorrow. Both Bobby and Dean will suffer the hunter’s curse. And then he’ll be either be taken away by the demons and still hunted by the Alpha. With a wild hope, he fantasizes the Alpha and Yellow Eyes duking it out, killing each other. Wouldn’t it be nice?

But he’ll be alone again. It would be okay if it hadn’t been for Dean. He shuts his eyes tight, remembering the kiss. What is  _ wrong  _ with him? Is he attached to this guy for his namesake? That strange and familiar security he offers? That damn smile? 

Fuck. 

Sam throws the covers off him and heads out into the hallway. One door over and he knocks gently. Movement from the other side and then it opens. Green eyes and those scattered freckles. 

“Col---”

Sam cuts him off with a kiss before he can finish. The force has them both stumbling further into the room, barely having time to recover. Dean makes a sound, muffled by Sam’s mouth. He takes Dean’s face in his hands, holds him there as he takes his bottom lip, runs a tongue over the soft skin. 

And Dean has to break it then. He breathes out, shakily, not meeting Sam’s eyes for a few moments, as if he’s gathering himself. Sam waits, on edge and just...hoping. He feels smaller than he truly is, hunching his shoulders and bowing his head. If this is it, he might as well just shrivel back into the old mattress and stiff sheets. 

“We---” Dean tries, “---I don’t want you doin’ this because you think--- _ shit _ . I don’t know.”

He looks perplexed and it’s slowly devolving into torture. Sam watches as this man before him seems to tear himself up from the inside out. Dean withdraws from him and it takes a lot of willpower not to follow. Dean runs hot and all the body heat is withering away. 

Sam runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “I want this. Want  _ you _ .”

“That’s the problem,” Dean mutters. 

Incredulously, “What?” 

“You just---fucking drive me  _ crazy _ ,” he bites out. 

Sam can relate on a very intimate level. But whatever Dean’s freaking out about, he thinks he can beat it with ten more levels of fucked up. He wants to say  _ I know, me too. _ But instead, “Show me.”

Dean’s blinks back up at him, a frown etched on his features. Breathless, “What?”

“Show me how crazy,” Sam steps into his space once more. Quietly, “Dean. Please---”

And the magic word does it. He explodes into motion, takes Sam’s face in his hands and kisses him. It’s Sam’s turn to stabilize his footing. He still has half a mind to shut the door behind him blindly and neither one of them are bothered that it makes a loud enough sound. 

Dean’s twisting them around, guiding them to the bed and Sam’s heart might explode. They land in the bed and it jostles Sam away from the kiss. Dean hovers above him, that body heat over his, so damn close. It lights that fire within his veins again. He flicks his gaze to lock eyes with Dean and what he sees throws him off. 

There’s a multitude of expressions there but what seems to dominate is something close to lustful adoration. Dean doesn’t look away this time and Sam’s stuck on it. 

Sam realizes, probably too late, he may be looking at Dean the same way. 

He lifts his hips to meet Dean’s, grinds against him and feels the hard line against his stomach. Dean hisses, places a hand in the sheets next to Sam’s head and closes his eyes tightly. Sam huffs with some annoyance. 

He’s still restraining himself. For what, he doesn’t know. 

“You want me,” Sam whispers, snaking his hand up to Dean’s bicep to use as leverage. He grinds against him again and it elicits another sound. “You want me, right, Dean?”

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out, still doesn’t open his eyes. Can’t have that. 

“Been hard for me for awhile now, yeah?” Sam murmurs, dragging his hips again until his cock finds the pressure he wants. He bites down on his lip, muffling the groan. That. He wants more of that. “How long, Dean?”

“Fuck,” is the only word in Dean’s vocabulary right now. 

“Was it when you got me under you outside Cold Oak?” That’s not fair, Sam knows. But it does it in for Dean. 

A hand reaches under him, grabs his ass and the pressure increases. Sam groans, throws his head back and Dean attacks his exposed neck, nipping and kissing. With a stray thought, he thinks he might be all marked up by the end of this and that spikes his arousal even more. 

He’s suddenly grateful they both had made the choice to wear sweatpants because Dean’s roughly sliding Sam’s off. Despite the brief loss of friction, he can’t complain when a hand is on his dick. An airy noise is punched out of him, a jolt of electricity under his skin as a thumb skates over the mess at the top. God, he wants this so bad. Wants  _ Dean _ . 

Dean moves, placing Sam’s thigh in between his. He thinks it’s probably to get better access but then he feels the hard line of Dean’s cock against his leg and realizes, belatedly, he’s getting off from riding him. He lets out a breath, canting his head and placing sloppy kisses along Dean’s jawline. 

“Not right…” Dean murmurs and Sam pauses his movements until, “...what you do to me---you don’t even know--- _ ngh _ \---”

Sam could be on top of the world with the sudden surge of power he feels. He applies more pressure, allows Dean to grind against his thigh harder. Shit, he’s so fucking stuck on this guy. And he knows why. Knows it’s fucked up.  _ He’s  _ fucked up. 

A twist of the hand and Sam keens, so far gone. All other thoughts are abandoned, crumbled by the intensifying lust. His hips jerk when Dean’s thumb moves over the sensitive head again. Fuck. 

“Look at me,” he says, a low tone and Sam’s eyes snap open. Dean looks mystified and predatory all at once; Sam gives a small gasp. “Yeah, like that?”

Sam can only nod, lifting his leg slightly as Dean grinds against him harder. He can feel his cock through the material. It shocks him a bit. Had he just hidden this attraction or had Sam just pretended not to see it? Whatever the case, he realizes that this attraction has simply reached a head. He’s caught up in it now and he’s just satisfied Dean’s willing to come along for it. 

There’s a hand in his hair, rough and seeking purchase. A small tug elicits a moan from Sam and it’s returned by a slightly more strained one. Another pull and he feels a small shudder. Dean’s mouth is like a whisper against his jawline, trailing up until there’s a nip at his earlobe and Sam gasps. 

“Gonna come when I pull your hair?” Dean’s voice is hoarse and gruff, coated in matched arousal. Sam nearly creams himself then. 

“ _ Dean _ ,” he can’t help it. Looks like he’s not the only one with the limited vocabulary. 

And it looks like Dean’s okay with that, as he grinds harder against Sam’s thigh. There’s a particular hunger in his movements and he speeds his hand. Sam can hardly hold on much longer. 

“Open your eyes,” Dean hisses and Sam hadn’t even realized he had closed them again. When he does, he’s already coming, feeling the release throughout his whole body in shivers and a shaky breath. A hurt sound comes from Dean, and he buries his face into Sam’s neck as he comes too. A muffled word is smothered into Sam’s skin, something that could have been a curse or a name. “ _ \---mm _ .” He’s too blissed out to register it, though. 

Dean’s panting into his neck, chest heaving against his. It takes a second, but he feels there’s something between them, poking through the thin material of Dean’s shirt. The thought goes away as Dean shifts, maneuvering to detach himself from Sam. It’s an odd loss, despite being merely centimeters away from his face. He thinks he’d like to smother himself in Dean, keep his heart over his. 

Without much thought, Sam places a hand over that same heart. Dean stills visibly and he’s only mildly aware Dean is watching him closely. That something is blocking him from feeling the heartbeat but he imagines it’s a fast rhythm. A flicker of a frown crosses his features. It’s a necklace. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, fingers seeking the cord under the shirt. He nearly fishes it out from underneath before Dean fully sits up, the action like a snap. 

“Nothing,” Dean clears his throat. “Just a reminder.”

Sam has something like that. In a small box, intricate designs etched into the petrified wood contains a silver ring. He can’t retrieve it, like a lost treasure. He’s not sure what a necklace could mean to Dean but he thinks he understands on some level. And with the satisfaction still coursing through his body, he leaves it alone. 

“Okay.”

Dean sighs and retrieves a used shirt for Sam and another pair of sweats for himself. After he’s done, he tosses it to the side of the bed and stays where he is. Dean doesn’t say anything, like he expects him to. He could kick him out, ask him  _ Don’t you have your own bed? _ But Dean doesn’t. A big part of Sam is thankful for it. 

The room on the bed has significantly shrunk, now that two grown men are laying side by side. Sam has to let a foot hang off the side to give space for Dean. It’s his bed after all. But Dean seems to be okay with it and that’s all that matters for right now. 

He stares up at the ceiling until he falls asleep. 

For once, he doesn’t dream of anything at all.

  
  


\---

  
  


Dean's not there when he wakes up, which he supposes he should have expected. 

He hadn’t been much for talking last night, which is odd. The guy loves to fill empty space with words continuously. That look on his face last night… Sam’s willing to bet Dean has plenty of people lined up for him. It’s just that this situation might be fucking with him. 

It’s fucking with Sam, that’s for sure. He sought out Dean; a knee jerk reaction to his own fear. He went searching for the only safety he could and maybe he ruined it. Dean probably regrets it and that wouldn’t surprise Sam at all. 

It could be a lot worse, he thinks. Just like like Cold Oak. The vampires could have found him before Dean did. Or the demon could have just dragged him to the gates of Hell right after the fight. And Dean could have simply rebuffed him completely but he’s not sure if that’s a pro or a con. He doesn’t know what to do with this situation, though. He hasn’t ever had to deal with an interpersonal relationship that feels older than three days.

He feels burnt from the inside out, like a caldera has made its home within him for years and it’s just now boiling to the surface. It had been different when he was under the charge of the Alpha; his anger crushed by a forced complacency. But---it’s not just rage. It’s confusion and infatuation and it’s not a great formula for Sam. 

Trudging down the stairs, half awake, Sam follows the familiar scent of burnt coffee beans and toasted bread. He hardly had these things the past eleven years but there’s some things the nose doesn’t forget. When he reaches the kitchen, he spies Bobby at the table, sipping coffee. And then he sees Dean putting something in the sink, back towards him. 

“Get good sleep, Colton?” Bobby asks him and Sam snaps his attention to him. 

“Uh, yeah, thank you,” he murmurs, bringing a hand to the back of his neck.  _ Not Colton. _

Bobby nods and he turns back to Dean across the kitchen. Dean’s looking directly at him, eyes flicking over Sam. It’s like he’s being examined and Sam shifts his weight to his other foot, squirming under his gaze. Dean makes his way over to him and Sam feels small for a brief moment. 

“Got a major case of bed head,” he reaches up with his hand and messes with Sam’s hair. Sam promptly smacks it away indignantly. Dean’s grinning, which secretly delights Sam. “You need a brush, princess?”

“That’d be great, actually. I would hate to show up to the end of the world with this hair,” Sam responds. 

Dean merely shrugs and heads towards the living room, which is littered with stacks of books and boxes. He assumes each one has various miscellaneous things related to the otherworldly. He understands why Dean would want to hunker down here. Bobby has an entire library dedicated for hunter use. He’s reminded of his own library of everything weird. 

“I think I might have figured out what’s in Wyoming,” Bobby pipes up and both young men turn to him. “A railroad. A railroad that doesn’t go anywhere, actually. I’ll need to pull up some pictures but I’m pretty sure Samuel Colt meant to keep somethin’ out.”

The demons. Sam holds his breath. If Samuel Colt built something to keep demons out, that would mean---

“So the gates of hell are there,” Dean says, not even bothering to pose it as a question. Sam shares a look with him. “Guess we know where we’re headed.”

“We’re gonna need some back-up,” Bobby grunts as he stands from the table. “I’m gonna call in a few hunters, see if we can get ahead of this before it gets too much. I already contacted Ellen. Gonna pick her up and meet you boys in Wyoming.”

More hunters? A spike of panic surges through Sam. More hunters means risk of exposure. He glances at Dean but he’s not looking. For a moment, he questions why he had turned to Dean for a source of comfort in the first place. 

“That’s a drive,” Dean says and nods. “Sounds like a plan. Let us know when you’re close.”

Bobby doesn’t say anything in return; simply gives what Sam assumes is a nod in acknowledgement and heads down the hallway, where his room must be. Sam hadn’t paid much attention last night, really. Most of his focus is on Dean, despite this fucked up situation. Which could mean he’s just dissociating. Great. 

He dares another glance to Dean, who is already staring at him. It’s the kind of look that seems expectant and lost all at once and Sam wonders if he’s got one to match.  _ What now? _ says the look,  _ What should I do? _ But Sam doesn’t have a good answer to that. For years, the most conversation he had was with a living fossil. And before that? Well. He had something much better then, didn’t he? 

Dean turns away, clears his throat awkwardly and that’s what prompts Sam to blurt out, “So your car---”

“Yeah,” Dean responds, rather quickly, as if they’ve suddenly found the script to this conversation. “It’s around the back, so if you wanted to see it---”

“Maybe after some---” Sam pauses to look back over to the kitchen counter and peer what was left of the classic Hunter Breakfast, “---toast.” Of course. He turns back to Dean with a sheepish smile. “And I kinda wanted to look up some more on this railroad.”

“Great, yeah,” Dean says, a bit breathless, like it had been a relief. He’s smiling and it lasts a few seconds but it’s directed right at Sam. He swears the colors in the room get brighter. “I’m gonna go check on Baby---” Sam resists the urge to joke about naming a car, “---and come back in a bit.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sam watches as Dean slips through the screendoor, quietly admiring the black undershirt and light blue jeans on him before he goes to the only laptop he can find. It’s Dean’s, he figures, because it’s looking like Bobby hardly has any real technology in the house. At least, no technology that had been made before the turn of the century. He can’t judge too much; at eighteen, he made a persuasive argument to the Alpha that learning how to use a modern computer would increase his knowledge of the world. Sam would like to think he was gifted a laptop because of his great speaking points but he knows it’s simply because he asked for it. 

At some point, Bobby leaves with a short goodbye. Sam murmurs one himself, too distracted by his research. Samuel Colt’s land had been sold over the years but the site now belongs to the state. A railroad that goes nowhere. Sam looks for images on the website, which leads nowhere beyond the fact that it’s basically a graveyard. He gives up and searches for satellite images and that offers something. Zooming in, Sam feels somewhat validated for the bit of research. 

The screendoor creaks open and then shut. Sam’s still cross checking his suspicions when someone takes his chin, forcing him to look away. He’s met with green eyes and his breath catches in his throat. Dean’s smirking at him. There’s a familiar smell and he places it a moment later.  _ Motor oil _ . His sense memory hits him harder than expected. 

Dean bends down to brush against Sam’s lips---barely a kiss. His eyes close, instinctively. Then a murmured, “Can I?”

Sam gives him a slight nod and says, “Yeah.”

Dean kisses him. It’s not like last night. Or even their first kiss. It’s fond and endearing. It feels like affection that Sam doesn’t know is warranted. (A promise and Sam thinks,  _ he’s not gonna hurt you _ .) They’ve only known each other for a few days, despite sharing nearly every second together. But it’s like it belongs here---this kiss has a place in the space between them. And, well...

Well, it’s nice. He had jumped the gun last night, that’s for sure. But it’s working out. Somehow. It’s nice to be wanted in a way that isn’t meant for a tool. For someone’s way to  _ win _ something. Maybe Dean’s still using him. Maybe he still wants to hang on to him for this whole damn mess. But---

He’s using him too, he knows. Maybe that twelve year old boy, awkward and boney, never quite got over the obsessive adoration towards an older brother who made up his entire universe. And then this hunter shows up in his world, same name and same damn eyes, and he can’t believe how lucky he got. Using a stand-in for his brother is more fucked up than he’s willing to dissect. 

Dean breaks the kiss and smirks at him as he stands straight again, slinging a dirty rag over his shoulder. “Find anything?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam blinks the haziness away, which almost works. He clears his throat, snapping his attention back to the laptop and away from the smug look on Dean’s stupid face. “So, we know Samuel Colt was trying to keep something out, right?” Dean nods but he hardly gives time for another response. “Obviously, it would have to be demons. What’s the best way to keep a demon out?”

“...salt?” Demon frowns and shrugs. And then it clicks. Sam grins. “Oh, shit. A devil’s trap?”

“Samuel Colt made a devil’s trap. The railroad protects the gate of Hell.”

Dean laughs, jostled Sam’s shoulder. “Nice work, nerd. I’ll tell Bobby. But first…”

Sam waits for it, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Dean rolls his eyes. 

“The car?”

The burst of laughter from Sam feels like a surprise. Of course. This beloved car he can’t shut up about. “Okay, let me grab some toast and coffee. Then I’ll go see  _ Baby _ .”

Despite Sam’s obvious jab, Dean throws on a grin. “Damn right.” 

Sam has a sneaking suspicion that Dean doesn’t get the chance to show off something as normal as a car. Maybe hunter skills; cocking a shotgun with one hand, the duffle bag full of various weapons, his knowledge on how to kill whatever crazy monster but probably not this stupid car. He’ll give it to Dean, though. Might as well. 

He grabs the piece of toast and some coffee and heads out into the metal jungle with Dean. That sense memory returns when he smells the motor oil again and Dean’s smiling at him. It prickles at the back of his mind, like a constant reminder. He pushes it away. There’s not enough time in the world to sort out the knotted yarn of issues he has in his head. 

Dean slows down his pace and Sam automatically matches it with some confusion. Finally, Dean halts, a frown upon his features. 

“What’s up?”

Dean’s lips are a thin line, his eyes staring past Sam until he locks on his gaze. “I know I said that we’d do this together…” He pauses, averting his gaze again. “But now that we know what’s waitin’ for us---I mean. If you want to hang back and wait this out, I don’t mind. You’ll be safe here. Bobby’s got traps everywhere. And I’ll still keep my end of the deal.”

There’s a spark of annoyance in the back of Sam’s mind. At first, he thinks that Dean believes he can’t do it. Can’t do this hunter bullshit. But he takes a moment, considering Dean’s words.  _ You’ll be safe. _ Ah. ( _ Not gonna hurt you. _ ) Sam hums and nods, instead. He gets it. “How about we see how I feel later?”

It’s the best answer he has. He appreciates the option. Dean’s trying to give him an out where they both win. Dean nods, a lighter expression on his face. There’s a small attempt at a smirk but it looks more endearing that the passive reaction Sam thinks he was going for. “That’s fair.”

“So is a love for cars a hunter qualification or…?” Sam jokes, attempting to look serious but Dean elbows him and he chuckles. 

“Nah, my dad taught me everything about cars,” Dean supplies. “A family thing, I guess.”

“Huh,” he nods. Some memories bubble forth but he pushes those away too. “Bet you got a Mustang if you’re this obsessed.”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Sam scoffs, watches as Dean walks over to it and rolls his eyes until he recognizes it. 

There’s a quiet rattle when the air conditioner is on. Legos had been stuffed in the vent years ago. A little green soldier man is stuck in the ashtray. No one bothered to remove it. There should be a blood stain on the threading in the back. Rough poltergeist hunt. And there’s initials carved into the interior, meant to immortalize the Winchester sons. Its name is Baby. 

He knows all this because that particular model---a 1967 Impala---used to be the closest to a home he ever got. 

The mug slips from his hand, coffee spilled onto the dirt and his shoes. The toast follows a second later. 

His heart beats differently when he hears Dean’s voice then. Icy blood pumps too loudly into his ears and he can hardly make out the words. 

It’s not---this can’t be real. Is it? There’s no way. 

Years ago, he hadn’t believed the Alpha. He had Jebidiah take him to the fields, ready to call their bluff. But there was a mangled and bloody body of his brother. Hardly recognizable but that body wore Dean’s clothes. That body had Dean’s height and weight. That body had been  _ Dean _ . Its face had been torn to ribbons but no one commits that much to faking someone’s death, right? 

He had believed them. He believed Dean was dead. 

A hand falls on his shoulder and he snaps back to the present. He withdraws, stepping back from what might as well be a ghost; this man isn’t supposed to be  _ his  _ Dean. He’s supposed to be  _ a _ Dean. Someone else’s brother. Someone else’s Dean that has lived and experienced other things. Unrelated to Sam. 

Dean looks almost wounded by his reaction but Sam can’t handle anymore. He needs to get out of here. “Colt---”

“Don’t,” Sam barely makes out, his voice sounding strangled. “Don’t call me that.”

He thinks of last night, thinks of Dean’s lips warm against his. Thinks about how much he truly has fucked up this entire situation. He never should have---what the fuck is wrong with him? 

It’s been obvious, hasn’t it? He should have realized. Why didn’t he realize it? 

_ Not gonna hurt you. _

“What’s wrong?” Dean steps closer, sounding like he’s reaching Sam’s level of panic. He’s confused, Sam realizes. He’s having a panic attack out of nowhere and Dean doesn’t know what to do to help. And Sam doesn’t want him to. 

He glances up through stringy bangs.  _ Oh, Dean.  _ He looks completely lost. Scared, even. Maybe he’s starting to reach a similar conclusion. Maybe part of him knew it too. As if finding each other after all these years had been possible but settled for a realistic scenario: that they simply found someone close enough for the real thing. 

“Dude, you have to say  _ somethin’ _ ,” Dean insists, shifting to get closer but stops himself. Sam feels a bit of relief for that; Dean doesn’t want to spook him further and is deliberately staying put. “C’mon, please…”

He shakes his head, breathes in. “The necklace.”

There’s a few beats after he says it. His real name won’t change anything, he knows. He’s been  _ Colton _ . A guy Dean found outside of Cold Oak, across the state of South Dakota. Not Sam---not to Dean. His heart drops.  _ Dean. _ His Dean. The center of his universe. 

Everything seems to still between them as Dean narrows his eyes at the mention of the necklace. But they both know what he’s talking about. It’s an amulet. Sam remembers wrapping it with newspaper. The funnies. There had been a comic of Peanuts that lined it. The amulet is a symbol for protection. Despite remembering those small details, Sam can’t recall where he had gotten the treasure. 

“What?” Dean says, a clipped tone but still neutral. 

“Christmas. 1991,” Sam murmurs, feels a terrible shake in his voice, “I was gonna give it to Dad but he didn’t show. I gave it to you because---”

“---I told the truth,” Dean finishes and it sounds like a gear slotted in place. 

It disarms Dean, like a physical reaction. His shoulders fall and his arms fall limpy at his sides. And he’s just  _ staring _ . Sam can only do the same. 

A myriad of emotions flash over Dean’s face, reminds him of an old picture film. The ones that flicker, phasing from one image to another. He recognizes a few. Some he can empathize with and others he fears. Shock, some horror, maybe grief and then utter confusion. 

“Sammy?” 

It feels like a curse word, somehow. That name had been spoken recently by the demon. It had been sacred because only one person really said that before. And now it’s been...corrupted somehow. 

Sammy is a scrawny kid. Lopsided smiles and shaggy hair. He’s mad about anything and everything. Likes spending time in a library. Cries over the stupid things. Feels anxious because he hadn’t gotten a phone call. He runs into burning houses without a second thought. Sammy is Dean’s little brother. 

Sam---Sam is a different person. Sam was raised by actual blood suckers. He spends nights alone and has grown used to unrelenting violence. He barely speaks and when he does, it’s because the Alpha says something first. He’s the one who killed Jake and couldn’t save anyone else. 

It’s  _ Sam  _ who puts that look on Dean’s face. That growing horror of the reality that’s crushing them, little by little. Because it was supposed to be a guy named Colton, who looked a bit like how Sammy might have, who came into Dean’s room last night. Another guy who might look like his little brother. And maybe Dean convinced himself he could bypass that, just as Sam did. He wonders if Dean had any clue. But it had always been Sam. 

Sam, who stands before his brother, halfway through an anxiety attack and completely stripped of the bit of dignity he may have had left. 

Dean narrows his eyes, frowns deeply as if Sam had just threatened his damn life. And, in a way, it feels like he did. Dismantling this whole world that they’ve built for themselves in such a small amount of time feels wrong. Feels like he’s just lost the one thing he could hang on to. 

“I---” Dean runs a hand roughly through his hair. Then it drops to meet the other to his neck and he pulls at the cord. That dreaded amulet is finally revealed. Sam lets his eyes close in complete defeat. “How…?”

His eyes sting horribly and he recognizes it for what it is. He grits his teeth, willing the tears away. He can see it; Dean doesn’t want to believe it because, maybe, Sam Winchester had died at twelve. That little rebellious brat that talked too much about science and math and craved his brother’s attention is gone. Not even a picture on a milk carton. Just...gone.

Sam shakes his head mutely. 

How could he possibly explain everything now? The vampires, that John Doe that’s buried in a shallow grave somewhere in north California. Or maybe his intentions? That he---

Fuck.

Just fuck.

“But I sl---” Dean stops himself and Sam’s eyes widen. 

Now that’s a different kind of horror. 

_ But I slept with you. _

There’s a lot Sam is good at. His athleticism, for one. Academics. Self defense is generally a given. But there’s always been one thing Sam’s been doing most of his life. He’s done it as a kid, traveling many miles the United States has to offer. And he continued when living with the vampires. It’s what he’s known for, despite anything else. 

He does what he does best. 

Sam runs.

  
  


\---

  
  


Cutting through the thick brush of South Dakota isn’t hard when he’s been used to it before. The scrapes and itchy vegetation isn’t all that bad when he’s got enough motivation. And, right now, his motivation is to get the fuck away from a problem. 

It’s not even a problem he can blame anyone for, really. He can’t run away from himself, so running away from Dean is the next best thing. With a deafening heartbeat and aching muscles, Sam keeps going, putting as much distance as possible between him and Dean. It feels wrong on some fundamental level, though. Like putting down a good book when there’s no interruption or quitting something when one is ahead of the game. It’s like running away from the one semblance of a safe place he’s ever had. 

He’s ruined that safety. If he thinks about it for a few seconds longer than he should, Sam can still see that look of horror shifting into dread on Dean’s face. The unfinished sentence, the obvious statement splayed right in front of them but Dean couldn’t say it. Sam could hardly confront it. Truth is, he had pretended all along. 

How could he be so  _ stupid _ ? The Alpha told him he could take away both Winchester sons. But he had lied. The bones of some guy are resting in a cornfield, unknown and sacrificed to teach Sam a petty lesson about running away. Guess even that couldn’t sway him now because he still took flight. 

Dean had called after him, predictably. But he kept going. He couldn’t address that elephant. Fuck that. He’d rather not continue to witness how much he’d messed up the impossible reunion. He should have known better, honestly. He should have seen it the first time. Sunshower smiles and motor oil. Those little things he remembered. Grease smeared over Dean’s brow, the lame jokes in the car, the warmth when their bodies were too close. Maybe that would explain the insane attraction; he could blame it on that, right? But Sam knows better. He had been crazy about Dean before all this. 

Twelve years old, a weathered map in his hands and glancing up to see the crease in Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He’d been smiling as he drove the Impala.  _ Idiot,  _ he had thought,  _ You’re gonna crash the car _ . But his whole body sang with the attention given so freely. He craved it, just as he had craved it these past few days. 

He just---he should have known. He wanted Dean how he could have him. And Dean gave it to him. Now they both have to live with that. 

He stops in a clearing as the trees begin to thin. There’s an open plain beyond the treeline; a soybean field and not enough cover if he wants to get the hell out of this state. He could probably hotwire a car on a farm. Or figure out how to buy a bus ticket, head for the border. If he’s not in the States, he could at least get rid of one problem for awhile. 

“Hi, Sam,” says the other problem. 

He whips around and sees a blonde. She’s young with green eyes and wearing a brown leather jacket. She could be the sweetest girl but something is wearing her body like a costume. He knows what she is before she blinks her eyes to reveal the black mirrors. 

Nope. Fuck this. He’s going through a rather monumental crisis and needs a damn water break. Not a fucking demon showing up. Sam takes off again, which his muscles strain to obey. 

“Oh, c’mon, Sam!” he hears the demon yell and then she’s right in front of him. He nearly topples right into her. “Boss man says you gotta meet him there. You’re taking too long. So, let’s go.”

“I’ll pass,” Sam makes a move to run in the other direction but something makes his vision go dark. A second later his brain registers the pain on the back of his head. 

And then he can’t register anything at all. 

  
  


\---

  
  


In the Alpha’s manor’s, Sam had forgotten a lot.  _ Chose _ to forget a lot. 

But there would be times that one particular memory fell through the cracks, despite all the distractions the nest offered. In the gardens, when the bright marigolds got to show off for the three weeks of life they had. Or alone in his bed, staring across the room where books of all types rested on shelves, he’d catch a title that sparked it. Occasionally, it would be a statement made by the Alpha to trigger it. 

Whatever it may be, he would remember one simple memory. 

One of the few hunts he had been allowed to come along on. He barely recalls the details. But there was screaming from within a burning house and his brother had already dragged out the single mom and one of their kids. The other had been trapped inside. His dad---well, he doesn’t remember that either. His dad had been fighting the bad guy and that’s all he can say about that. There was still one more child left inside; a little girl. Five years younger than Sam but that didn’t quite matter to a kid hunter, did it?

He had ducked inside the house. Dean had screamed at him but it had been too late. Everything was aflame; the wallpaper replaced with yellows and oranges. He ran but the heat would still singe his clothes. When he grabbed the tiny six year old, scared and crying in the closet, Sam yanked her to him. His jacket and arms were the only cover he could offer her as he guided little Anna-Rose out. 

Part of the ceiling had given out. Sam knew it was coming before it happened; the distinct sound of charred wood grating against itself is something he knew well. That’s why he pushed Anna-Rose out the door before it came down. 

He remembers feeling it to his bones, as if he wasn’t meant for hellfire. Remembers thinking how wrong it had been for him. Smoke in his lungs and skin burning and Sam, twelve years old and jaded, thought calmly,  _ Woulda been nice to freeze to death. _

It wouldn’t have mattered. Familiar hands had carried him out regardless. His name was being shouted and something in the tone sounded  _ terrified _ . He had glanced up in question, sitting there in the front lawn, frowning. Surely it wasn’t who he thought it was. 

But it  _ was _ Dean. Kneeling in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders and giving a shake every few seconds because Sam hadn’t said anything. He gave one look around, spied Anna-Rose clinging to a mother, who was holding on just as tightly to her daughter. And then he turned his eyes back to his brother and gave the biggest smile. 

Never before had he felt such victory. He  _ saved  _ someone. He saved someone and it was going to be  _ okay _ . Dean must have been disarmed by the reaction because he gave a huff of surprised laughter. Sam remembers wanting to smother himself into Dean, shout into his shirt  _ We did it!  _ But Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead against his and sighed out, shaky but certain. 

“Don’t do that shit again,” he had told Sam. 

Sam remembers thinking he  _ could  _ do it again because Dean would be there. It would be okay. 

It’s a strange memory to have, really. The absence of their dad amidst a burning house and a chance to be the big hero. But John must have been fighting the ghost or whatever caused the fire. Looking back, that moment sticks out the most. That peculiar closeness between he and Dean, with a small family witnessing and a raging fire behind them. He thinks he might have peered up through his bangs to stare right into green eyes and immortalized the image. But maybe that’s just him twisting his memory. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Time to wake up, Sam.”

A light slap to his right cheek and his eyes fly open. He jolts, as if shocked, and sits up immediately. His first realization is that he’s in a graveyard of sorts. People who had died over a century before he had been born; the field of stone expanding to a surrounding treeline. 

The second thing he realizes is the one who had woken him up is the damn yellow-eyed demon. He takes in a deep breath, setting his jaw as he glares up at the creature wearing a human form. It’s not his first time defying an ancient being; he’s got experience. And some leverage because this awful fucking thing wants him for its own gain.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sam,” the demon grins, spreads his hands placatingly but it’s to mock him, “We went through a lot of trouble finding you.”

Sam grits his teeth, averts his gaze and finds himself staring at other gravestones. The night has a heavy presence. Darkness typically feels like nothing. Nights are supposed to feel empty. But the moonlight casts shadows that move, filling up the spaces that are usually blank. The demon’s voice alone could be enough. His chest constricts. 

“Listen, buddy,” the demon crouches down to his level and Sam finds himself leaning back against the headstone he must’ve been slumped against, “Someone’s hid you good from us for years. You were the one we couldn’t find. Out of all the others, you were the only kid we couldn’t locate. And you  _ won _ !”

Sam doesn’t respond. He’s tired of it. Just...all of it. 

“I get it,” the demon stands again, gestures to the land, “You want out. And, sorry to say, it’s not gonna happen. This was decided before you were even born. But you can have  _ everything _ .”

Everything doesn’t sound right. Everything seems like a burden to Sam. What’s a champion if he didn’t ask for the rotten victory? He doesn’t want everything. He knows what he wants and it makes it even worse, really. To want for that one thing means to lose it too. And he had lost it, in a junkyard in South Dakota. 

“You lied about Dean.” Sam can’t help it, wanting to see the reaction. 

The demon pauses, tilting his head to the side with some inquisitiveness etched in his features. Then a terrible grin. “No, I didn’t. I told you, Sam: I can give you Dean just the way you remember. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Sam feels sick. Not just with this situation but just---with  _ everything _ . He couldn’t even face the Dean from his childhood  _ now _ . He’s different. Fucked up by vampires and this dark thing welling inside him. That darkness he’s been carrying since sleeping in a crib. 

“No, that’s not what I want,” Sam admits and that feels right. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“I know, Sam,” the demon says, sympathetically and it’s nearly believable. “But you got a job to do and it’s time. If you don’t step up, the world will burn either way. At least  _ this  _ way, you can have a say in who gets to witness what happens after.” A pause and a sigh. “Dean can still live, Sam.”

It’s not good logic. Demons lie. It’s wrong and sounds like it’s a bad deal no matter what happens but Sam’s tired. Dean may never want to look at him again but at least he’d be spared. 

There’s one thing Sam had never tried when under the Alpha’s thumb. He had read books on djinns, demons, any monster or artifact that could give special wishes. They all had a catch. Djinns bend reality but it’s still all in one’s head. Special wish-granting items twisted the past and could fundamentally crumble parts of the universe. These things never appealed to Sam. But demons? They had that type of power; they could bring back anything from the dead and skip over the world-changing ramifications. 

But Sam could never make a deal with a demon. Maybe even as a kid, Sam thought he could get away from the Alpha on his own. But, in the end, he wouldn’t have to. The demons took him away, without a deal. 

“It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not.”

Sam stares up at this terrible thing before him. Shadows move behind it, moving towards the small mausoleum a few paces away. Demons in their bare form. Lots of them. It’s the first time he realizes exactly where they are. Samuel Colt’s project. The gates of Hell. Colt knew there was one here and he did his best to shield it away for years. But even if the demons got in, they would need a key to the door. Sam is the key. 

He thinks of Dean. The lame jokes in the car, sunshower smiles and the warm press of his lips. He lost something today, he knows. Maybe a brother or the memory of a brother he had adored for so long. Or both. But if he could save Dean, maybe this was his only shot. 

He parts his lips, takes in a ragged breath. Then shakes his head. “Fuck you.”

A deafening gunshot rings out. 

Sam whips around, nearly falling back by the force of his movement. He can’t see from his position and ducks behind the headstone as the shadows move frantically around the spaces. Black smoke and the heavy presence he had felt before. Shouting from somewhere, multiple voices. 

When he turns back to the yellow-eyed demon, he’s no longer there but Sam has about ten other problems. He peers over the gravestone and sees movement at the other side of the cemetery. He tries to make out what the hell is happening but a voice cuts over the chaos. 

“Sam!”

His pulse kicks into a higher gear and maybe his vision whites out for a second. He can’t even stop his instinctual response, “Dean?!”

Standing up, cautiously, even if it doesn’t matter with the ink-black shadows speeding around him. But he doesn’t quite care because all he’s looking for is Dean. How did he know he was here? He can only stand as Dean, holding a shotgun he knows is filled with rocksalt, runs over to him. It could be a scene from a movie, honestly. Sam staring dumbly as the hero runs over to save him. Or whatever Dean’s meaning to do. 

Truth is, Sam is just relieved to see him, even if it’s in a graveyard filled with demons. Sounds about right, actually. 

“Sam,” Dean sighs out, gripping his shoulder and eyes flicking over his form. He’s checking for injuries, he understands a second later. “You hurt? You good?”

He  should say something. If there is ever a time to say anything, he could say it now. But he’s gaping at Dean, like he’d found him for the first time. This should have been the reunion, he thinks numbly. They should have met amongst chaos and the beginnings of a war on Hell and seen each other and known instantly they had found each other. 

But it hadn’t been. They have a new kind of history now. So instead of answering Dean’s questions, he says, “I’m sorry.”

_ Sorry for deceiving you when we met. Sorry for Colton, an asshole twenty-something. Sorry for not believing you could pull this whole thing off. Sorry for my bad timing. Sorry for wanting you, even now. Just---sorry. _

But there’s a surprised laugh that rips out of Dean and he shakes his head, drags Sam with him as he makes a beeline for whatever direction, “Bad timing.”

Sam can’t say much because, yeah, it  _ is  _ bad timing. But, hey, the chances of them getting out of here with a pulse is getting slimmer by the second. What’s he supposed to do? They hadn’t parted on good terms. 

But here’s Dean, hand clamped around his wrist and had laughed, as if nothing had happened. Is Sam crazy? Had he lost it somewhere between the state lines? Or maybe it’s Dean who’s crazy. Has been this entire time. After all, who willingly chases overpowered demons and seeks out monsters in the night besides crazy people? 

“Dean---”

“Here,” Dean thrusts the shotgun in Sam’s hands suddenly and he misses the unwarranted touch from before. 

Sam frowns. “But what about you---?” He cuts himself off when Dean raises the Colt with a smirk. “Oh.”

His heart is still skipping every other beat and he doesn’t know what to do other than stare dumbly at this man in front of him. This man bent on revenge. This man, all sharp edges and gunpowder. This man who renews adoration within Sam he’d long forgotten. This man, his brother. 

Dean doesn’t meet his eyes when he says, “We still had a deal, right? You aren’t done with me yet.”

Oh, how he wishes he could explain he yearns for the opposite. He swallows and nods. “Yeah. The deal.”

Dean looks at him then. He looks a little thrown by his response. He takes in a breath, ready to say something but Sam won’t ever get to hear it. 

Sam’s thrown against the nearest tree. The force suffocates him, his back aflame with pain. He doesn’t even get the chance to fall to the ground and recover from it because he’s pinned there. The impact has him drop the shotgun. Suspended half a breath off the ground and held there. He cries out when he attempts to break free of the invisible bindings but his muscles spasm. 

“Sam!”

“I guess it was only a matter of time you came to the rescue,” the dreaded voice of the yellow-eyed demon says. Fearfully, Sam’s eyes dart between them. Dean’s pointing the Colt right at it. “You can’t help yourself, right? Sammy’s missing and you just lose your shit!” 

It’s a taunt but Sam doesn’t quite understand it. The look on Dean’s face says he does, though. He cocks the Colt. His jaw is set and his body is completely still in the battle-ready pose. The cemetery feels strangely quiet where they are. There’s a battle happening on the other side but it doesn’t concern them anymore. 

“I’m not wrong,” the demon grins, “Did you tell him?”

“You’re going to die here,” Dean says evenly. 

Sam tries  again to break free of the force that has him against the trunk. His whole body feels like a bruise as he does. But he keeps attempting, despite himself. He has a terrible feeling he will watch his brother die in front of him. The fear grows every second. 

“You didn’t, did you?” the demon continues. Even in the dark, the yellow eyes are bright. It turns to Sam then and he stills, halting any sense of progress he might have had of breaking away. “Deanie-boy here tried making a deal.”

“Shut up!”

“What?” Sam murmurs. A deal? What...what kind of a deal?

“Several deals, actually,” the demon says with a small chuckle and a dismissive wave of its hand. “All demons were on strict orders not to, of course. What we wanted was your daddy. And guess what, Sam?” It grins and Sam can feel that  _ everything _ again; the heaviness of it. He already knows where this is going. “Daddy made a deal with me. And now he’s in Hell.”

“Shut the  _ fuck  _ up!”

Dean sounds wrecked, torn to shreds but Sam can’t blame him. Briefly, he recalls something Dean had said to him that first day.  _ Then Yellow Eyes got to him a year ago. Demon deal.  _ Dread washes over him. His dad made a deal with this thing. Whatever it had been, he’s sure Dean was involved. And it’s been eating him alive. 

His insides are molten lava. A sleeping caldera had always resided inside Sam, ever since he was a child. It came out of a dark slumber every now and then but never reached full potential. 

That rage as a kid, that terrible thing he always associated with evil, seers through his skin. He would never get to see his dad again. He doesn’t even have time to weigh the loss; part of him knew he never would get to meet his dad. After the first night with the Alpha, he had known. John Winchester wasn’t going to come busting through the window with a machete, he wasn’t going to come save Sam at all. But he had loved his father, despite everything. 

He had loved Dean too. Loved and adored. His whole world was Dean and this demon took  _ another  _ thing from his brother. No mother, no father. He had effectively cursed Dean by simply  _ taking _ . And that could no longer stand. 

Sam roars and that wrath  _ burns _ . Flames never felt right. That burning house taught him that. This was something else. A white hot anger that comes forth and it almost feels like ice. It’s an awful combination but it’s all he needs to shatter the hold and land on his feet soundly. 

The look on the demon’s face would have been satisfying but he isn’t done. He reaches out with his hand with another cry. He feels something invisible hook to his hand, unseen strings like on a pupplet, from his fingers to the demon. He pushes and the demon flies backwards. 

And then Sam crumples to the ground, gasping. The caldera is finally gone; its built up bitterness and vehemence used up for another sort of purpose. He thinks he hears Dean call his name but it’s too late. 

Yellow-Eyes had recovered long enough to appear right in front of Sam. He stares up at the monster that had started all of this and can’t help but laugh weakly. It could be hysterical but he doesn't have the energy for that. The laughter comes from somewhere deep inside his chest with a light weight, as if it’s been waiting for years to do so.

The demon narrows its eyes. “Impressive, Sammy, but you don’t got enough juice to finish me off. So what’s funny?”

“That,” Sam nods to his right, exactly where his brother stands. 

It’s just enough time for the demon to turn its head and see the bullet that will end its existence. 

  
  


\---

  
  


When a king falls, their legion follows after. Either flee or, in the case of die-hard loyalty, fight to the death. Yellow-Eyes hadn’t been much of a king. Before the body could hit the ground, a hush swept over the cemetery. 

Everything had stilled, the air thick with unnatural silence. It’s as if the night itself had held its breath. 

And then it erupted in utter chaos. Demons flying and billowing around in a panic. Dean had shifted closer to Sam, nearly covering him, almost uselessly because the demons weren’t looking for a fight anymore; they were searching for an escape. 

Sam is left crouched in brittle grass as his brother wraps an arm over his shoulders, kneeling into him. He glances over to Dean, confusion prickling his brain. They’re demons; they can get the hell out anytime they wanted, right? If they got inside Samuel Colt's devil’s trap, they can leave. 

“What’s…?” Sam finds himself trailing off as he spies the growing smirk on Dean’s face. 

“They fixed the trap,” Dean says, “Bobby must have done it just in time too.”

And now all these demons were going straight back to Hell. Sam huffs, the beginnings of victory settling inside his chest. He makes an effort to stand with the bit of energy he’s got left. Dean helps, pulling him up by the arm and another hand against his back. It feels familiar; right where their hands should be but Sam shifts away, despite himself. Dean withdraws. 

He hears the distant sound of a chant somewhere and recognizes it as the exorcism in latin. He sighs out and it’s like purging all the anxiety he’s built up for years. 

He turns to Dean, grins. As the demons plunge into the ground, leaving ashes and charred land behind on their way to Hell, Sam says, “I think I could go for some pizza.”

Dean barks a laugh, another surprise for him and it shows. Like the demon, Dean’s eyes are bright in the dark. But it’s different; there’s a particular life there and it’s rather beautiful. Sam will keep that to himself, though. 

  
  


\---

  
  


He meets the other hunters. Bobby had brought a woman named Ellen Harvelle and she had (reluctantly, he guesses) brought her daughter with her: Jo. Both are blonde and have matching stony scowls, which Sam thinks may be a job description for any hunter. Another two hunters: Gordan Walker and Kubrick (“Just Kubrick,” he says). Bobby had gotten a whole calvary and he’s slightly impressed how connected they all are. He doesn’t remember his dad talking to many hunters over the years. But, then again, he had been twelve. 

When he introduces himself as Sam Winchester, there’s mild confusion but no one says a thing. Dean hadn’t informed them of the situation and maybe that’s for the best. It’s Bobby who shows the most reaction as Sam thanks the others; staring with raised eyebrows. When the others break off, he approaches both of them. 

In a low tone, “I had a feelin’ I knew you,  kid . But you idiots have some explainin’ to do,” he grunts. “Last time I saw ya, I was runnin’ your dad off my porch with a shotgun.”

Sam blinks, frowns. The memory is faded, something he can hardly picture. It’s believable but he can’t place when and where. “I---”

Dean’s laughing, slaps a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “We’ll talk later, Bobby. But right now, we have something we have to do.”

“We do?” Sam questions, frowning. 

Bobby nods and heads back to where the others stand, joining whatever after-battle conversation the hunters are having. Sam turns back to Dean, who shrugs. 

“First, we get pizza,” he informs him, as if that one directive is more important than the rest and maybe that’s endearing when it shouldn’t be. “And then we go kill your vamp.”

Sam can’t breathe then. Oh. Shit. Right. The deal. He clears his throat, averts his gaze. 

There’s a part of Sam that intimately knows Dean. At least, he had known the Dean from before. This Dean is still new to him. But even now, both the Dean from his memory and the present one hold so many similarities. He’s still that green soldier man, loyal and focused. It could have been his undoing tonight. A lot of things could have gone wrong. But Dean won, like he said he would. 

Dean wouldn’t go back on his word now. He had told Sam he would give him the Colt after this and now that it’s an actual reality, Sam just wants to stall it as long as possible. Because the deal? It also included they go their separate ways. Dean will honor that too. 

“Okay,” he says, as if he’s signed off on a contract. “Let’s go.”

  
  


\---

  
  


Colorado. It’s where the Alpha would be, he’s certain. This time of year, the estate in the heart of Colorado is full of blood-sucking creatures. And the Alpha would be waiting for him, he knows. 

It’s not a long drive but it feels like it. The weight of everything that’s occurred in the past week finally catches up to Sam. There’s not enough time in this world to process what’s happened but the big things---the ones that are bookmarked for Read Later or tabbed to investigate at a free moment---stand out in his head. 

This man in the driver’s seat had been his brother all along. Not a stand-in for whatever fucked up fantasy Sam so desperately wanted. Not a trick by Yellow Eyes, meant to drive him to make another choice. And he feels as if he’s irrevocably destroyed every chance to have a brotherly dynamic ever again. After this...well, he’d be lucky if Dean even says goodbye. 

The trials in Cold Oak had been for nothing. All of those people died for some invisible war that was over before it began. He thinks of Jake, feels the bitter regret on his tongue. Ava could have been married within a few months but she’d succumbed to the demon’s call. Little Monique would be in her dorm, studying for finals. Ray would be working in his office, living the mundane life of a low-level accountant. And Jake. Well, Jake would have been in Afghanistan. All that had been stolen. 

John Winchester had died and Sam hadn’t even known. With Dean’s supposed death, he felt every nerve in his body until he couldn’t feel at all. There hadn’t been anything with his dad. No telling that he had gone. Mourning would have to wait but Sam wouldn’t know where to begin with the grief. Is he supposed to cry? Had Dean burned his body? All by himself, watching their dad’s corpse being reduced to ash in a field? 

Sam closes his eyes and rests his head on the window as Nirvana plays in the Impala. He feels numb to it all. Dean cracks a few jokes every now and then. Sam feels like that has something to do with Dean’s defense mechanism. He doesn’t blame him; using humor as emotional armor had always been a trait for Dean. Sam’s had been silence and, unfortunately, that’s the problem. 

They’re driving through a national park when Dean pulls over. Sam doesn’t react, forcing himself to still his body. Several ideas pass through his mind. Dean could have decided this is as far as he’s taking him. Or he wants a minute outside the car, away from Sam’s existence. Either one doesn’t seem too far from crazy. 

Instead, Dean murmurs, “C’mon.”

So he follows, mutely. Getting out of the Impala, Sam steps onto the gravel. It crunches beneath his feet and it matches Dean’s footsteps as he walks to the bench and table a few meters away. Sam sits down after Dean does and they stay there for awhile. Daylight seems to bring out Dean’s features the best; dusted freckles, green eyes and he wishes he could see that sunshower smile. 

And then Dean meets his gaze. Those eyes flicker over Sam’s face and he wants to wither under the scrutiny. It’s not the bad kind, though. Just...looking. So Sam does the same, waiting. They stare at each other and it’s strangely the most serene thing he’s felt in a long time. 

“This where we part ways?” Sam asks quietly. 

Dean frowns but it’s erased by a shake of his head. “God, no.”

“Then what’s happening, Dean?”

“I…” Dean begins, frowns again and runs a hand through his hair. He never had been good with words; shows his emotions through actions. “When I lost you---the first time---I wasn’t in a good way. Yellow Eyes didn’t lie about that. And I. I tried everything, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. He can only watch as his brother admits this dark thing that obviously has tormented him. Part of him doesn’t want to hear it because that means  _ both _ their lives had been hell apart. If they had stayed together, if he’d never been taken, would they be on another highway right now? Hunting together? Or would they have split up somewhere along the way? 

“I tried making deals,” the admission is heavier than it should be. It stings. “It makes sense why they didn’t now. Even the demons couldn’t find you. But...I thought they just didn’t want  _ my _ soul.” Dean swallows, rubs a hand over his face. “I thought they knew there was somethin’ wrong with me, y’know? And there was. Still is.”

And then he stares directly at Sam when he says:

“When I found you, I thought it had been too good to be true. Someone who could have been my brother but…” Dean shakes his head, swallows again and Sam can’t stop the thought of pressing his mouth to the adam’s apple there. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

Sam let’s that apology hang there between them. It’s a terrible thing that he doesn’t want. He wants to take the words, throw them into the expanse of trees and let it get lost. He can’t stop his next words. 

“I thought you were dead,” he blurts out and that seems to catch Dean off guard. But Sam can’t stop now. “The Alpha showed me a shredded body and your ring and I just accepted it. And then I see you and I wanted to reject everything about you. The way you talked or walked, just everything reminded me of my brother and I---I just wanted to keep that.”

Sam’s already said sorry once. He won’t say it again. But he supposes it’s enough to explain what he’s truly sorry for. He can only hope Dean can understand and not hate him for it. 

But Dean’s examining him again, as if on the verge of solving a forgotten puzzle. This time, Sam does wither a bit, glancing away to look at the landscape Colorado has to offer. He wants to go back to the car, curl up in a ball and---

“I didn’t mean to use you, Sam.”

He whips his head back to glare at Dean. “You  _ didn’t _ .”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean insists, “I used you for Yellow Eyes and I used you before that.”

“You mean when you got your rocks off?” The question makes Dean visibly wince. Sam doesn’t pause. “I wanted it. I came to  _ you _ .”

Jesus, this is what he’s been thinking all this time? Sam’s been fucked up, worried Dean came to the same conclusion about him. But it had been the other way around. Of course.  _ Big brother _ is responsible. Dean’s fallen into that role quickly. His insides feel twisted at the thought. 

He thinks of Dean’s hands, warm over his skin. He thinks of Dean’s mouth, murmuring something like a name into his neck. Then it clicks. 

_ Sam. _ He had said  _ Sam _ the other night. Well, shit. 

“I wanted it, Dean,” Sam says, gentler this time, and rises from the bench, “You wanted me too. We can leave it there.”

He goes back to the car. Dean doesn’t come back for a good five minutes and then they’re driving again. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Dean takes Sam’s advice and the conversation is left on a park bench in the middle of nowhere. 

They’re only a few more miles out when Dean tells him a little story. It’s amidst some banter about cassette tapes and how outdated they are now but Dean would win the argument anyway because ‘he’s the driver’. 

“They took the ring,” he says and Sam’s smirk from earlier slips, “The vamps. I don’t even know how they found me but Dad had been gone. Fucked me up pretty good but left me alive. When I woke up, they had taken it. Guess now I know why. One of those things that always bothered me.”

“To teach me a lesson.”

“Yeah,” Dean says and it takes Sam a second to realize it’s through gritted teeth. 

“Dad made a deal with the Alpha, didn’t he?” Sam asks and he hates himself for it. He doesn’t want to know. Not really. But it’s obvious now. There had been some sort of deal because there’s no way John Winchester lost a son and didn’t get him back. Not the John Winchester the world knows. “He knew about Yellow Eyes’ plan.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dean sighs out, “What I know is that I didn’t speak to the man for a good year when I found out about the deal. He wouldn’t explain it. Just said it was to keep you safe. I tried to...y’know, look for you again but...there was nothin’ to go on.”

“The Alpha is good at that,” Sam murmurs. “Hiding.”

“Yeah, well, not anymore.”

Sam doesn’t respond. Instead, he considers them. It’s odd how familiar this all feels. Even now, with new information, revelations and burdens. It’s like they’ve fallen into step. Sam’s not the fitful kid in the backseat and Dean’s not all  _ yessirs  _ anymore but it feels right. Where they’ve always meant to belong. 

He wonders if Dean feels the same. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


When they reach the estate, it’s dusk. The sky is an array of oranges and pinks, casting dark shadows with gold outlines. It’s ominous and beautiful all at once. The Impala is parked right outside the gates and Sam gets out to stand in front. Dean follows, placing himself right next to him. 

It’s quiet for a long minute as Sam stares past the gates to the large house that sits in the middle of the acreage. His heart is a steady rhythm, as if this is all normal. Anxiety is nowhere to be found. There’s just a hole where the anticipation should have been. 

Dean nudges his arm and he turns to look at him. The Colt. Right. Sam takes it quietly with a small, grateful smile. He turns back to the estate and notices the figure approaching. The whole nest must know they’re here. Must have known when they set on the road. That’s how the Alpha is, though. All knowing. 

It takes Sam a second to realize it but the vampire coming to greet them is the same one who escaped a few days ago from the motel room. She ran with Jebediah’s crew. She looks solemn and he doesn’t think she’s had a good time reporting her failure. 

“He’s waiting for you, Samuel,” she says and opens the gates. They creak at the movement and it’s loud. Nothing makes noise around vampires; not even nature itself. 

Both he and Dean don’t say anything. They simply walk with her as she leads them to the front door. Some vampires linger within the foyer, bare their fangs at Dean but withdraw as they catch sight of Sam’s glower. Things still work the same here, even after everything. It’s odd, though. There seems to be another level of fear towards Sam. Like they’re simply scared of his very presence. 

They’re led to the dining room, where there is only one large window at the other end. Its curtains are open to welcome the coming moonlight. The dark wood table sits in the middle, adorned with expensive silver cutlery for no one and crystal candlesticks never to be lit. All for show. 

At the very end of the table sits the Alpha. His eyes never leave Sam; there’s a whisper of a smile on his face, a painful thing for such an ancient monster. But it grows a fraction as Sam steps up to the other end of the table. 

He doesn’t feel anger now, like he thought he would. There’s just that empty caldera and he’s got nothing left. This is the thing that raised him, took care of his needs and taught him. A monster that took on a human paternal role that never should have happened. Sam can’t feel bitter about it. He wonders why. 

“My son has returned,” the Alpha says, opening his arms as if he had an arena for an audience. “And he’s come with the crown.”

Sam doesn’t bother correcting him but apparently Dean doesn’t want to let it slide. “His  _ father  _ was John Winchester, bloodsucker.”

The Alpha’s eyes slice to Dean, as if he hadn’t realized he was there. He pauses and sits back in his chair. “Ah.  _ Dean _ . I’m sure this is all unsettling for you but Sam and I have much to discuss.”

“Listen, I don’t mind doing you the same way I did your lackeys,” Dean growls. Sam thinks to place a hand on his shoulder or gesture for him to calm down but, honestly? He figures Dean needs to get some of this out of his system. 

“Yes,” the Alpha waves a hand, “I heard what you had done to Jebediah. But I assure you, Dean, what Samuel has in his hand is the closest you may get to ending me.”

“Will it?” Sam finally speaks, his voice rough from not having used it in hours. 

The Alpha shrugs his shoulders, one of the few casual movements Sam has ever seen him do without it being associated with violence. “I suppose it would be worth a try.”

“I know why you took me,” Sam tells him, “I just don’t know what you benefited from it.”

The Alpha stares at him, as if he’s considering answering truthfully or not. And then the sliver of a smile returns. “Hell had been chattering for some time now. Demons have always been a force that the rest of us monsters had quietly ignored. We were here first, you know. Gnashing our teeth, clawing at each other. But demons? They had an agenda.”

“You knew about the demon blood.”

“And so much more,” the Alpha lolls his head to the side with a thoughtful look, his fingernails tracing the glass of blood in front of him. “One doesn’t live to see continental drift without knowing a few ancient secrets.”

“How long have they planned this?”

“You’ll know, Samuel. Someday, you’ll know.”

“What did you gain by taking me?” Sam says, less patient this time. 

“To have our champion!” he exclaims, rising to his feet. That smile never leaves. “We gave Hell their precious warrior. The  _ victor _ . We took him, shielded him from them and, when the call came, we released him to fulfill his purpose.  _ You _ , Samuel. You even spat in their face! We did that. The vampires. Not shifters, not wolves, not the striga, not even the demons themselves. You won because we taught you how to win.”

Sam stands at the end of a table he’s eaten at countless times before, with a long-lost brother beside him, and a monster-killing weapon in one hand and he thinks that this may be the most appalling thing he’s heard yet. It hadn’t been enough that his father traded him to vampires. No, it had to happen so that he could come out on top. Be twisted into something not even Sam could recognize anymore. 

What an awful thing to do to a child. 

“And my dad just...let you.”

“Oh, he changed his mind last minute, of course,” the Alpha replies, sighing out. “Winchesters are like that, I’ve learned. He had too much human left inside him to let go of his boy. But we took you regardless. And now you stand the champion.”

Sam raises the gun. “And you won’t stand at all.”

The Alpha sighs once more. He takes a drink, like some righteous thing he’s owed. Other vampires in the room shuffle by the walls, shifting closer to him and Dean. They’re right to be worried. Sam doesn’t often miss and they know that. 

“You, my son,” the Alpha says evenly, a gentler tone, “had been my greatest accomplishment. Among building entire kingdoms and personally dismantling them, witnessing the fall of Rome or when you're subspecies of human first made their home in their motherland, I’ve never been more proud to claim part of your victory. We near the end and I’ve taken the role. To see the rise of the king.”

Sam feels sick then. That emptiness, that  _ normalcy _ , of being back here vanishes. The horror in the Alpha’s words catch up like a rubberband contracts and it hits him. 

Used. He had been used since he was a baby. Used by the demons. Used by the vampires. Used was the word Dean said, wasn’t it?  _ I didn’t mean to use you, Sam _ . And now he understands some of what Dean had been trying to say. Dean knew, already, what all this was about. At least, Dean knew bits and pieces. He felt like he had used Sam and maybe he did. Maybe everyone had used him in some way. 

Sam’s never had any agency. Not once in his life. He had no control, no way to bend the rules. But Dean had been trying to give that to him. The deal. Offering him the Colt. And the Alpha expected him to fulfill some fucked up expectation: kill the master. It’s already written. He wants Sam to take over, lead the vampires and demons. Lead all the monsters, eventually. Or whatever he had planned. 

So Sam lowers the gun, smirks and shakes his head. 

“Some day,” he says slowly, “I hope you see this kingdom fall too. And I’ll be the one to do it.”

And then he takes his leave, pockets the Colt in the small of his back and it feels like a different type of victory. The Alpha says nothing, though he’s sure he wants to. But it’s over. There’s nothing left for him there in that dining room. Just awful memories of another world. He’d have to leave that behind.

But there’s one thing he won’t leave. Dean follows him up the stairs, mutely. He doesn’t say anything, no protests that the Alpha hadn’t been killed. Probably planning on coming back for him, Sam thinks. But Dean won’t be able to; not on his own, anyway. He’s grateful for Dean’s silence. He’ll take any support he can. 

His room had been larger than most. He had been the child that got to grow into adulthood and not be turned. He got seniority, he always figured. But now he knows better. There’s some relief when he realizes his things had been left untouched. Part of him wants to grab all the books he can but he only goes for one thing. The small chest made of petrified wood atop a shelf. He opens it, grabs what’s inside and looks up to smile at Dean. It feels right, that smile. Like a strange peace. 

“Let’s go,” Sam says, and they do. 

  
  


\---

  
  


They’re sitting in an empty parking lot. Dean cut the engine seconds ago. The waning moon is hanging low, bright and ever-so present. It drowns out most of the other stars in the sky and Sam notes, for the first time, he prefers the stars over the moon. 

(One Christmas, he had begged to get a telescope. Mark Carson in his middle school bragged about getting one and Sam had been obsessed with astronomy section in his science book. He remembers he had been taken to an observatory instead. Somewhere in Arizona, he thinks. Dean spent money on tickets and they went to the night tour to look through a huge telescope.) 

They don’t talk, yet. Sam knows what Dean may want to say. But Dean’s never been good with words. There’s some comfort in that fact. Some things never changed. But something very fundamental did, Sam realizes. His adoration for his brother got twisted somewhere in his absence. And the same happened to Dean. They’re just mangled on the inside but at least it’s something they share. 

He breathes out, gets out of the car and leans against the hood. His arms crossed---more because it’s cold and not at his insecurity, surprisingly---and stares blankly ahead of him. 

A few moments later, Dean joins him. He doesn’t get too close but just enough so that Sam feels his body heat. Dean’s watching himself, which spikes some dread in him.

Sam fishes into his pocket, finds what he’s looking for and holds the silver ring in the space between them. He braves looking at Dean and maybe that had been a mistake. There’s a flicker of grief over his brother’s features, something broken but it fades into defeat. 

“You had it. This whole time,” Dean murmurs. 

“It’s yours,” Sam tells him. Another courageous impulse of taking his brother’s hand and placing the ring in Dean’s palm. His fingers linger there out of a need. To touch. But he withdraws. 

Dean’s hand encloses around the ring loosely, like it’s a fragile treasure. He’s still looking at his fist when he says quietly, “Yeah. Sure, Sammy.”

_ It’s Sam _ , he thinks about saying but keeps his mouth closed.  _ Sammy _ isn’t really who Dean wants him to be anymore. Sam can’t be that person. 

And then he glances up and Sam’s heart beats a different rhythm. It’s the same every time, isn’t it? Dean looks at him and the world goes still. Nothing else really matters. 

“What do you want, Sam?”

It’s a loaded question.  _ What now? Where do we go from here?  _ The world has seen Sam and Dean Winchester reunited and it still kept going. The world hadn’t ended. They stopped one apocalypse and crushed the ideals of a monster emperor. But all that seems to matter is that they’re still in the same state together, standing in a barren parking lot in some small town. They’re supposed to go separate ways now but the thought alone has Sam falling apart. 

Colorado’s chill wind picks up and causes Sam to shiver slightly. He’s afraid to answer that truthfully.  _ You. Just you. If you’d let me.  _ But Sam’s not prepared for the answer he may get. He doesn’t want to know the expiration date on this. So he settles on, “Wanna just---drive for awhile?”

Dean looks at him hard for a few long moments. And then he nods, a trace of a smirk on his mouth. Oh, he’d like to kiss it right now. “Let’s drive, then.”

  
  


\---

  
  


They drive to Jericho, California. There’s a decades old story of a woman dressed in white that haunts the highway that runs through the town. Sam finds the story in a newspaper that had been left on a diner table. Dean had been telling a story about a ghoul he found in an actual crypt. Sam had pointed the story out to Dean and his brother had the biggest grin on his face. 

“Looks like a hunt!” Dean said, mouth full of eggs and sausage and Sam wrinkled his nose, which only caused Dean to snicker. His brother continued to ask questions about it, checking off the boxes of a classic case for a hunter. Sam will never admit he had been secretly delighted Dean found pride in him finding a hunt. 

It turns out it’s a Woman in White. She had drowned her children out of grief and spite towards a cheating husband. She attacks men who are unfaithful or inclined to be. The ghost doesn’t bother with them, even as they get inside the old abandoned house that used to be her home. Sam realizes, much later, that she hadn’t attacked them because neither one had anyone besides each other. 

In that town, Sam falls asleep next to Dean on the couch in a terrible motel, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder. 

They don’t talk about much that’s happened. Maybe a shared memory here and there. Little whispers of the past. Dean doesn’t talk about their dad and a big part of Sam is thankful for it. When Dean’s ready, he’ll tell him how the great John Winchester went down and Sam will wait for it. 

Instead, he’s okay with waking up with a kink in his neck because he’s slept against Dean the whole night. Later in the morning, Dean says there’s something weird happening in another state. So they take another drive. 

\---

  
  


They end up in Blackwater Ridge because there’s some fucked up maneater and Dean bets it’s a werewolf but Sam wins with the lucky guess of wendigo. He wishes they had an actual bet going because he would have gotten to drive the car for once. 

There, after the paramedics come to take away the injured campers and a job well done, Dean leans against the Impala next to Sam and retrieves something from his pocket. The ring. It hangs from a fishing line. Before Sam can say anything, he gives the ring back to Sam, and says, “It had been ours. So just keep it.”

It’s cold against Sam’s skin when he puts it on but lighter than it’s ever felt. It rests between his ribs, a strange feeling against his skin. A reminder. But a better one than its meaning before.  _ Alive _ , he thinks.  _ It means Dean’s here now. _ He’s never been one for jewelry like his brother but he thinks this one might stay. 

That night, they stay up and look at the ghostly lights of stars in a moonless sky. 

  
  


\---

  
  


In Connecticut, things change, though. Pierpont Inn holds an abundance of antiques and apparently assumptions, as both Sam and Dean are thought of as a couple and have to correct the single mother who runs the place. 

There’s a variety of alcohol bottles in the room with two twin beds. It invites them into drinking together. Sam shoots back the tequila, which he’s sure he’ll regret later. Alcohol had been something he’d been denied, though there had been times he snuck some into his room. It’s nice, though. Despite the fact that the inn could very well be haunted by some malevolent being, he finds a certain kind of joy being there. 

Dean keeps his distance, guarded even under the influence. But Sam doesn't have enough self control and it only takes three shots for him to get closer. He sits on the bed next to him, leans against the headboard and nudges Dean with his foot to do the same. With a sigh, Dean lays next to him and Sam sighs out, in a haze. 

He turns his head to look at his brother. Dean’s staring up at the ceiling but he’s sure he feels his gaze. “Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you want?”

He thinks of it because there’s nothing else he can ask him. Any other questions seem to matter little to Sam nowadays. He lives and breathes  _ DeanDeanDean _ . He’s that obsessive twelve year old, caught in his brother’s orbit. Maybe he never left it. 

Dean breathes in deeply and gets off the bed. The reaction prompts Sam to do the same, staring at him questioningly. 

“Dean?”

He shakes his head and, in the current state of mind, Sam can’t fathom what caused it. That had been the same question Dean asked before they started this indefinite road trip. And now he doesn’t want to answer it. 

“Let’s not do that, Sam,” Dean says, going back to the minibar. 

Sam follows, taking large strides across the room. “Why not? You know what I wan---”

“Do I?” Dean throws back with some heat. “Do I know what you want?”

“I---I thought I made that pretty clear,” he murmurs, insecurity bleeding through his words. 

“You want me to stick around,” Dean states flatly and turns back to pouring a drink. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

Panic surges through his chest. “...what?” 

They had been walking a thin line to begin with. Fucking your brother and then pretending nothing ever happened is a good enough reason to stay away forever. But they were making it work, right? Sam had known that this would happen but not… If Dean rejects him now, it’ll end him. 

When Dean doesn’t respond, Sam pushes it. “You can’t do  _ what _ , Dean?” No answer. “Can’t be around me?”

Dean whips around, irritation clear in his features. “We’re not doing this. Not right now.”

“ _ Yes _ , we are,” Sam insists. 

Instead of saying anything back, Dean goes back to the other end of the room. Sam stays where he is this time. The panic begins twisting into a sense of anger. 

“Are you sick of me?” Sam demands. “You don’t want to see me anymore? That it?”

“That’s not---” Dean runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “I can’t… I don’t wanna hurt you anymore. I don’t---there’s somethin’ wrong with me.”

All the anger vanishes then.  _ Not gonna hurt you. _ It’s the one thing that’s been a constant. A little soldier, ten years old, had said that Sam one Christmas. Dad wasn’t gonna let anything hurt him. But Dean hadn’t really meant  _ Dad _ . Dean wanted to be that superhero and Sam understands now. 

He gets it. A twinge of hope blossoms in his chest, ringing in the hollow space. Sam stalks over to Dean but his brother’s hardly paying attention. 

“It’s not right---I’m supposed to protect you and---when they took you, I couldn’t. I got a second chance and I---I blew it---”

Sam takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him. A surprised sound comes from Dean’s throat but Sam smothers it under his mouth. He presses his body flush against Dean’s, getting as close as possible. It only takes a moment for Dean to kiss him back and his veins feel like fire. 

It’s different this time. Before, it had been a way to seek out that strange safety Dean had. That familiarity he had craved for years. But this---it’s like coming back home. It’s that yearning finding its fulfillment.  _ You wanted me too, _ Sam thinks and there’s a bittersweet joy in the realization. 

When they break apart, Dean looks torn. Lips wet and pink from use, cheeks flush and short breaths. He’s holding Sam against him and he thinks maybe that counts for something. 

“Okay,” Dean says, like he’s answering something unasked. “Okay.”

Sam’s smile is probably bigger than it should be. He blames that on the alcohol. 

  
  


\---

  
  


After saving a little girl in a pool and letting a decades-old grudge of a ghost figure itself out, they leave. It doesn’t take long to drive away to their next destination. 

“I want to stay with you,” Sam tells him when they cross state lines. “That’s what I want.”

It takes a few seconds for Dean to say something back. “Then we’ll keep driving.” A pause. “I want that too.”

Maybe someday, they’ll talk it all the way through. Or maybe they won’t. Sam doesn’t care much for talking anymore. Dean wants him there and Sam’s not planning on going anywhere. Another time, they might share what they’ve missed in the time they’ve been apart but they’ve got plenty of days ahead. They’ll figure out the demon mess together. Whatever comes their way, Sam knows he’ll have the center of his world right there with him. 

It honestly could have been much worse, Sam thinks with a familiar tug in his chest. It could be the cold air hitting his face from the open window of the Impala. But he’s pretty sure it had been Dean’s sunshower smile directed his way. 

So they drive. 

And Sam can breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about AU's that align with canon. I loved throwing in all the easter eggs; that's nothing new in SPN AU fics, but it was a blast. I have a theory that the Campbell bloodline names their boys after Samuel Colt. Also, Bobby once said in canon that Sam had, "been running into burning houses since he was twelve." That line has always stood out because of Sam & Dean's association with burning houses; especially season 1. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and if you didn't, maybe it'll inspire you to write something like it? Because I love anything in this arena. 
> 
> Please go give love to the artist over [here](https://glowingsamulet.tumblr.com/post/190793363823/art-for-the-sam-winchester-big-bang-2020).


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